


Sherlock Holmes and the Problem

by CynthiaK2014



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 79,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaK2014/pseuds/CynthiaK2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original Date written and posted 21 November 1998</p><p>We all have our favorite Holmes and Watson from stage and screen but for the purposes of this story, I need you to go back to the stories that Doyle wrote and the descriptions he gave of their appearances.  I know you can read because you're reading this, so go back to the roots.</p><p>The bondage and discipline is of the Victorian variety. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****** Sherlock *****************

I leaned back in the chair with a rather satisfied sigh of repletion. My appetite had returned with a vengeance since I buried my cocaine habit in the sand. Stretching my legs to the fire, I crossed my hands on my chest and prepared to ponder a problem. No, if I were honest with myself, I would have to call it The Problem.

With no case with which to distract myself, I found my thoughts returning to the contemplation of what in the world I was going to do about my dear companion, Dr. Watson. Who even now was chortling under his breath at some story in yesterday's Times, quite unaware of my scrutiny.

When had his presence come to mean 'home' to me? When had his safety become paramount? Why did I feel this need to have him nearby under my eye every waking minute of the day? And where was this . . . desire coming from?

For a man who prided himself on his intellectual prowess, I had fallen low indeed. Thoughts had become subordinate to *feelings* of all things. Well, tonight was a good time to try and come to grips with this formidable impasse. We went on day by day, ignoring the looks and telling pauses in our conversation but it was surely building to a climax.

I looked back at the fire in time to catch a glimpse of one of 'His' looks out of the corner of my eye. Such a worried glance as he tried to gauge my mood from my posture. I know he worries about my health incessantly. It is, of course, why we are here in Cornwall at the seaside. He fears a bronchial weakness fed by the sapping of my strength.

As yet, I have not told him of my disposal of the syringe and my supply of the drug. A week or so of testing my resolve should do it. I must be sure that I am not tempted to return to the vile cocaine. Never would I wish to disappoint him and yet, I do so time and time again. Why does he stay with me? 

Do I dare hope that he feels for me what I have come to realize I feel for him? Who would have thought that a man of my age could fall so low? I am not dim of wit or so I always thought but it has taken me fifteen years to recognize the symptoms. I can see it in others but it came as a complete surprise that I could feel it myself.

I smile and shake my head. 'There is none so blind as he who will not see,' springs to my mind as a rather apt quotation. The paper rustles and I feel his eyes on me.

"I say, Holmes, that's a very enigmatic smile. Are you feeling all right?" He tried for levity but that constant fear that I might *not* be well underlies his voice.

"Quite all right, old fellow. Just musing on how stupid I can be."

"Nonsense, old chap. You are quite the wisest man I have ever known." His smile was open and just a touch relieved.

"But then, you can hardly have known many wise men, Watson." My sardonic tone might have seemed biting to another but my friend simply laughed.

"Truthfully, Holmes, you have been pensive for almost three days now. Is there something with which I could help you?"

I turned my head to contemplate the sturdy figure in the nearby chair. The firelight turned his skin a rich rosy hue that spoke of good health and hearty appetite. Brown hair, slightly mussed by his running his fingers through it in unconscious imitation of one of my gestures, gleamed almost golden in the flickering light.

"Perhaps. I have yet to come to a complete definition of the problem."

"A case? Something came in the mail while I was in the village stocking up with supplies?" He asked almost hopefully and I could tell he was worried now, that with nothing to occupy my mind, I might resort to the dreaded solution.

"Not a case. This problem is one which is coming to a head very shortly and . . ." I hesitated and felt myself unsure for the first time in a very long time indeed, "I will need your help in the resolving but not just yet. I must have it straight in my own mind before I ask your aid."

He smiled and nodded. "You know you need only ask, Holmes. If it is in my power, I will help all I can."

"I know, my dear fellow. I would be quite lost without you, Watson." My sincerity disconcerted him and he blushed most endearingly before burying his face in the paper again. Leaving me to contemplate the hither-to unthinkable.

Was what I was feeling more than friendship, more than simple fellowship? Could I be . . . in love for the first time in my life? And with such an unsuitable person? A man. A man who has already buried one wife and attracts women like honey. It's his innate sweetness, of course. The gentleness with which he treats even the lowest streetwalker whom he meets.

His chivalrous nature and his . . . quite touching belief in the goodness of mankind even after all the villains he's met through our work, seem to be an unshakable part of him. And I wouldn't change an iota of his nature, for fear that it might change his fervent belief in me. Undeserving as it is, I bask in the warmth of his regard.

Which brings me back to The Problem. Is it love, physical love, that is turning me from a thinker to an emotional fool? Or am I misinterpreting the whole situation? I have no experience with love. My parents were cold people who rarely showed any emotion at all. Mycroft was too much older than I to be more than someone I saw on school holidays. There were no other children to play with while I was growing up so I read and studied and went to University as soon as allowed.

Looking back over my years at school, I smiled at the too serious boy who feared the lighthearted gaiety of his peers. Understanding none of the jokes or the silly pranks, I really was a bit of a prig. So, once again, I buried myself in my studies and learned the book knowledge but none of the emotional or physical. Thank goodness for boxing! It was all that saved me from having no acquaintances at all.

London was the same except for the curious fact there was safety in numbers. I could study and observe to my heart's content and no one found it at all strange. I found I could blend in anywhere if I simply observed and mimicked those around me. Oh, the things I learned of human nature. Emotions, most of the darker ones, were my meat and drink.

I decided the insipid feelings of love and courtship were mere trifles. Not for me, the wiles of beauty and coquetry. And then there was Stamford introducing me to John Watson. A plain man, open faced and without two thoughts to rub together, I decided. How very wrong I was. Smiling, I blessed that idiot Stamford for the thousandth time.

Looking over at my companion, I caught him rubbing his shoulder again. Ever since the disgraceful incident of the Devil's Root, where he'd had to drag us both to safety because of my overweening pride, I'd noticed his tendency to favor that shoulder. It was the old wound, of course, the one that had sent him home to England from the campaigns.

I shuddered to think what would have happened to me without his strong presence at my side all these years. The three years without him while I wandered the world had been quite bad enough. Now, I can see that I stayed away to dull the pain of watching his happy marriage. Mary Morstan was a good woman who adored him. They were such a perfect couple that it hurt to watch. 

And so, I went into exile and realized that some pains are not dulled by time and distance. When Mycroft sent word of her death, I did grieve for her but more for Watson's loneliness. And of course, I came home immediately. The Adair case was entirely serendipitous. It was good to get that brute Moran, off the streets and behind bars where he belonged.

But it was the look on Watson's face when I finally revealed myself that made it all worthwhile. There were tears in his eyes when he came to from his faint. No recriminations, just joy at my presence. As if no time had passed at all. Three years have passed since that reunion and only now am I acknowledging what I am really feeling.

Love. A very frightening word. One fraught with uncertainty. What if he is appalled? Will I lose him as a friend if I ask him for physical intimacy? And just what kind of intimacy would two men practice? I've done some reading on the subject but only bits and pieces. As a doctor, I expect Watson would be my instructor.

I shiver suddenly. I am a virgin of the body. And the spirit. I would be safe with my friend. If he would take me in hand, I think I would enjoy it. Just the thought of his hands brings a certain flutter to my stomach. An interesting phenomenon but one that leaves me uncertain as to what it means.

"Holmes, I think I will go up to bed now. This country air works better than any sleeping draught I could prepare." His eyes were indeed looking tired and he was still unconsciously rubbing his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward instead of back. This might not be a problem to be solved but an opportunity to explore. Sitting up in my chair, I smiled. "An excellent idea, my friend. Let me bank the fire and I shall join you. The way you are holding your shoulder tells me that a little liniment would not come amiss tonight."

He chuckled and headed for the stairs. "Nothing gets by you. I did rather think a little massage might remove the ache. Is there anything in the kitchen I can get for you before you turn in?"

"If there is, I can get it myself, Watson. Upstairs with you. I'll be up in a moment to rub in some of your liniment. I know it's hard for you to reach the muscles in your upper back." I kept my eyes on the fire so I wouldn't see his start of surprise. I'd never offered such a service before. Would he turn it down?

The pause while I put the screen about the grate seemed hours long but was probably only a moment. "Thank you, Holmes. I appreciate your offer. It can be difficult to spread the lotion. I'll just go up and make sure the fire in the room is lit."

I made some murmur of agreement while inside I was rejoicing. Yes, I was going to touch him tonight. Perhaps, even see him without his shirt on. Passing through to the small kitchen, I poured some of the hot water into the china bowl that sat near the wood stove. Heat would do more good at easing the sore muscles than even Watson's favorite remedy.

Taking a deep breath, I started upstairs to meet my fate. Berating myself for the melodramatic turn of thought, I fought to regain my composure so I could present a normal facade to my friend. But seeing him kneeling by the fire with his vest off and his shirt undone came very close to destroying my equilibrium. The flames danced on the curls on his chest with little glints of gold.

I am lean and practically hairless and my sudden wish to touch those curls and feel them beneath my fingers took my breath away. He turned to me and stretched forth his hand to bring me into the room. My silence must have disconcerted him but he accepted it as he accepts all of my incomprehensible reactions to things. I closed the door firmly behind me and came forward to set the bowl on the hearth.

The bottle of liniment was already warming by the fire and I tried not to watch while Watson finished unfastening his shirt and gingerly shrugged the linen from his shoulders. The scar was still quite livid against the pale skin and it drew my fingers like a magnet. I'd only seen it once before and I wished suddenly that I'd been there to keep the bullet from him.

Wishful thinking on my part, since he'd coped quite well on his own. My fingers touched the scar gently and my touch froze him in place like a rabbit suddenly come face to face with a mastiff. My other hand took the cloth by the bowl and dipped it in the now not-so-boiling water. Bringing it to his shoulder, I pressed the warmth to the sore muscle beneath the scar.

He quivered at that sudden infusion of heat and his hands moved restlessly on his thighs. I felt the shift and play of muscles beneath my hands and had a sudden urge to trace the long muscles all up and down his body. Noting the awkwardness of his crouch, I wondered how to get him into a more comfortable position.

"Watson, would you mind sitting with your back to the fire?" I finally suggested. "It will provide more heat on your sore muscles and enable me to see more clearly while I rub in the liniment."

His blue eyes looked searchingly into mine before he nodded shyly and turned to sit in the position I'd suggested. I used the moment to drop the cloth into the basin and rise to my own feet to remove my jacket and waistcoat. The room was warm enough, I wouldn't need my dressing gown. So, I contented myself with rolling up my sleeves and undoing my collar.

"I wonder, Watson, what idiot invented the stiff collar? It is impractical in the extreme and a detriment to the circulation of men everywhere." I mused out loud while I moved back to his left side and settled myself in a modified lotus position.

He rewarded me with his hearty laugh and a flash of his straight white teeth. Through his chortles, he managed a brief comment. "Probably the same man who invented the woman's bustle. Impractical, indeed."

Uncapping the bottle of liquid, I started at the unfamiliar odor. This was not the scent I was used to smelling on my friend. Pouring a little into my hand, I rubbed it between my fingers. The viscosity was much thicker than the other. And such an interesting scent. Lemon. and what was the hint of . . . rosemary? 

"A colleague made up some of this for me. Guaranteed not to sting but still provide the comfort from soreness." Watson's blue eyes answered my unasked question.

"Ah. Much more pleasant than the liniment, which I always thought could have been used on our horses." My dry humor provoked another laugh. I rubbed my hands to spread the oily lotion between them before beginning his massage. 

The first touch of his skin was an interesting moment. His skin is so smooth that the scar tissue seems a very abrupt departure. It snakes across his shoulder and arm like a sinuous serpent of reddened and twisted flesh. My fingers gently smoothed over it, unsure of whether it might still pain him. Under my right hand, I could feel the muscles quiver as the lotion soaked in.

He sighed and trustingly leaned back into my touch. Once away from the scar, I was able to exert more strength into the kneading of his muscles. He moved his head back and forth as I released the tension from his stiffly held neck. I learned the art of massage in Tibet from a wise old man who'd given me shelter during a blizzard that snowed us in together. 

"Good Heavens, Holmes." Watson's voice was husky with feeling as he hung his head forward to expose more of his neck to my hands. "Where ever did you learn such magic?"

I found myself telling him of the solitary tramp up a mountain through the howling winds and blinding snow. The hermit who took me in and nursed my trembling limbs back to health. He fed my body with soup and tea but more importantly, he healed my soul of the terrible wounds inflicted by my past. Well, most of them anyway, my hands faltered along with my voice when I thought of all that I wished to say.

When I came back to myself, Watson had turned to me and held my oily hands in his in a reassuring grip. "Holmes, thank you for sharing some of that time with me. I have tried to restrain my curiosity of our time . . . apart. Thank you for the gift of your memories."

The pain in his voice, when he speaks of that time is still quite evident. Even after all these years. Perhaps it is time to heal that wound as well. Taking a deep breath, I focus on his hands so I can not see those honest blue eyes judging me and finding me wanting.

"I am a coward, Watson." I stilled his instinctive protest with a squeeze of my hands. "At the Falls, I chose to disappear for many reasons. Some of them good and some . . . very self-serving. I ran away and left you to face my death because of my fear and disgust."

A whimper brought my eyes up to his and I gazed aghast at the look of self-hatred that crinkled his eyes and thinned his lips into a grimace. I have never believed in intuition or mind-reading but at that moment, I knew . . . *knew* the erroneous conclusion he'd jumped to.

"Watson, no. Not disgust of you but of myself." I could tell he was lost in the past and not capable of hearing my confession. I was causing him pain without knowing how to stop it. I do not believe I have ever thought so quickly in my life before I leaned forward to distract him.

Oh, it was with the basest of motives that I kissed him. I admit it. I needed the contact as I needed the air we breathe. His lips were so soft beneath mine and I felt the moment when he realized what I had done. Such a soft gasp which opened his mouth and released a puff of spicy Watson-breath for my delectation.

"Holmes." His mouth twisted beneath mine, opening for a hot tongue that traced my thin lips with fervid passion. Then, he took complete charge of the kiss as I had always known he would. He is, after all, the one of this team with the experience. He taught my lips to open to him, then proceeded to explore my mouth with his knowledgeable tongue until my breath ran short and I had to pull away to take a gasping gulp of air.

Such a change in the beloved features so close to mine. His eyes were dilated to an alarming extent with only a faint rim of blue left. His cheeks were flushed pink and an untidy lock of hair had fallen out of place. His lips were bright red and slightly swollen from our kiss.

"Watson, believe me, when I say that this is what I feared." I gestured with our still clasped hands. "And it was *your* disgust that I dreaded if ever you should discover that I had . . ." 

I trembled and took another deep breath for courage. "That I had fallen in love with you." Not giving him time to interrupt, I hurried on with my shameful confession. "I feared to stay and so I ran away. Leaving you to your happy marriage and your normal life. I'm so sorry I abused your trust and friendship this way."

The silence was heavy with all the things left unsaid. I dared not look into those eyes that had always looked up to me with expectations of wisdom. Not after confessing such stupidity and venal corruption of his innocent emotions. As for the kiss . . . well, I had simply taken him by surprise and he'd reacted briefly to external stimuli.

"Holmes." His husky voice startled me out of my morbid musings. "Do you know I have always been able to read your face and know what you're thinking? Very soon after our first years together, I realized what you are thinking is displayed in your eyes. Especially when you are thinking about me. And as the years went by, you thought about me quite frequently."

His thumb was rubbing one of my fingers in short soothing strokes that sent little tingles up my hand and past my wrist. His hands are always so warm. That must be very useful for a doctor to possess such a . . . healing touch.

"Sherlock." The sound of my first name, rarely used by any since Nanny Wallace was removed when I was six, because I no longer needed a nurse, shocked me into a brief glance up. But he captured my gaze with his hypnotic eyes which with his gentle smile held me prisoner. "I do understand what you are saying to me. What you did not see because of your natural distress at the odd turn your feelings were taking, was that I felt the same way. I have loved you since almost the moment I met you."

He brought our clasped hands up to his cheek and feathered a kiss across my suddenly sensitive knuckles without his eyes ever leaving mine. "I had a brief affair with a fellow officer in Afghanistan before the battle that wounded me and killed him. When we met, I had come to terms with his loss and decided to put the love of men behind me. London society would never condone such a relationship and I've always enjoyed the ladies as well. But one look at your beautiful face and graceful body and I fell head over heels in love. But I could tell you had no such attraction and so I kept quiet."

I could feel my mouth open and close in shock. I knew not what to say at his confession. Closing my eyes, I fought a sudden lightheaded urge to collapse on the hearth. He must have realized my dilemma for he disentangled our hands and I felt his arms go around me and pull me down onto the wool rug. He cradled my head onto his shoulder and I took a shaky breath of his intoxicating skin.

"I need to know if that love is truly returned, Sherlock. If you would like to . . . consummate this feeling with more than just words." His voice pronounced each word so carefully as if contemplating and discarding a hundred for each one used. He is so brave in his love and I could not bear to offer him any less honesty.

Whispering through suddenly parched lips, I gathered all my courage to return his astonishing speech with my own halting words. "I do love you, John. But I have never experienced these . . . feelings before. I was unsure for many years as to what exactly was happening to me. I thought I understood friendship but I never knew love before so I had a very hard time fitting it into the equation of *our* relationship."

He chuckled at my rather plaintive tone and ran his tongue tenderly over my ear before nipping gently at the lobe. I started and felt the caress tingle through my whole body. Burying my head still further into the haven of his neck and shoulder, I continued.

"When I realized that I was going out of my way to touch you or to set up situations where you had to touch me, I knew something was wrong."

"Never wrong, Holmes. Different, perhaps but it is never wrong for you to want to touch me or to wish for my caress." His tones were quite forceful and I pulled back a little to smile up at him. "You are so beautiful, my shy love."

I felt the flush of red creep up my throat and flood my face with warmth. He gave a helpless sounding moan and suddenly, I found myself flat on the floor with one of his hands behind my head and his mouth once again stealing my breath. His other hand stroked up and down my shirt while I daringly returned the embrace with both my hands to his freshly oiled back.

It was a very long moment before he terminated the kiss, only to scatter little nips all over my face. In all my studies of the human body, I had never realized how many nerve endings above the waist could send direct messages to the groin. I was becoming extremely aroused and the answering hardness against my right hip led me to surmise John was also enjoying our embrace.

"Holmes, my dear Holmes." He finished two soft caresses across my eyes and waited for me to lift suddenly heavy lids. "It appears we both love each other and have for some time. At this moment, I want nothing more than to undress you and take you to bed. Where we will make loving . . . passionate . . . joyful . . . love." Each word was punctuated with a button of my shirt undone and the brush of his fingers against my skin. "What do you want?"

My words and desires all tangled together like the reins of a runaway horse. Almost stammering, I gave him permission. "You. I want you. But I have never . . ."

"Made love with a man before? I know. We shall take it very slowly and carefully so we both enjoy every moment. You must tell me if I am going too fast for you." He finished unbuttoning my shirt and for the first time, I felt his warm hand gliding softly over my chest.

But I had to make him understand my complete inexperience at this. "John, there is nothing you could do I would not embrace whole heartedly. But it's not just men with whom I've never made love."

I felt him start and his hand stopped its interesting search. "No women, either? I wondered but could not tell for sure. You are so brave, Sherlock. Remember that I love you and all will be well."

And he was kissing me again and all my higher reasoning went away. When next I was fully cognizant, we were both naked and under the warm blankets of our bed. The cool linen against my back was a great contrast to my heated skin. I was sweating like a fever victim while John mapped my skin with his hot tongue and warm hands. Kneeling between my legs, he charted every inch of skin on my chest while the wiry curls of hair on his legs teased my inner thighs into a state of quivering tension.

"Slowly, my love." He gentled my passion with his words. "You are so beautiful here. So hard and straight with such a rosy tint to quite the softest skin I've ever touched." He ran his fingers slowly up and down my shaft. The first person other than myself to so touch it or even see it since childhood. 

I'd begun to pant now. I could not take in enough air as his loving touches broke past all my barriers. But when I felt his mouth there, just at the crown, tonguing the weeping slit with his hot breath, I completely lost all control and shuddered into a never-ending climax that left me limp, boneless and almost comatose.

His sweet murmurs brought me back to him as they always had and always will. Opening my eyes to find his gaze on mine, his body touching me at every point, I could hardly find the words to thank him for his gift. But he knew, somehow, he knew and kissed me so sweetly that I felt my body quiver anew with sensation.

A faintly bittersweet taste overrode his natural sweetness and I realized I was tasting myself on his tongue. Blushing yet again, I held him close and managed a heartfelt whisper in the curve of his ear. "I love you. All my life seems to have been only a journey I had to endure to bring me to you. Thank you for loving me."

"It is never a hardship to love you, Sherlock. Over the last few years, I have come to the realization that I was brought to this earth for one reason and one reason only. And that was to love you and care for you with all my heart." He cradled me in his strong arms and pulled the covers up over our shoulders, enclosing us in a warm cocoon of linen and wool. Shifting our bodies into perfect alignment took long moments of careful caresses and soft movements.

The fire light flickered over John's tousled hair as it lay on the white linen pillowcase. My own head shared the pillow and our breath mingled in the cool night air. His eyes drooped with tiredness and I found my own lids heavy with the weight of what we'd shared.

"Sleep now, John. Tomorrow, we shall begin our lives anew."

"And your problem, Sherlock?" His voice was a sleepy purr.

"Ah, yes. My problem? Solved by the teamwork that has always categorized our agency. However, I think we should perhaps keep this case from your adoring public." My dry humor has always delighted him and I was rewarded with a soft chuckle and another caress from his talented hands. I smiled to myself and held him close while I allowed myself to drift to sleep, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.

********************


	2. An Adventure in Loving

******* Sherlock *********

Prologue:

_I awoke instantly as has been my custom for the greater part of my adult life. But this morning was like no morning of my experience. I was quite warm and the heavy weight in my arms and the tousled head on my shoulder were deliciously satisfying. John Watson, friend, confident and now lover. I shivered at the light that crept into the room through the white muslin curtains._

_Declarations of love made in the healing darkness might yet be wished away in the revealing dawn. Would he regret accepting my halting confession or even reject his own protestations of affection? I found myself feathering fingertips across his satin skin, aching to know every inch of him as he had known me last night._

_My eyes closed in sudden memory of the feel of raspy tongue and callused fingers that triggered my swift and aching arousal which he had engulfed in wet heat and tenderly sucked dry. The feel of silky hair beneath my cheek and the scent of his shampoo filled all my senses and I deliberately took a deep breath and held it. He always smelled so clean and fresh._

_Part of his doctor's persona, no doubt. But just now, his scent is stronger, no longer overlaid with soap and water. Even his sweat smells sweet to me this morning. Or perhaps it is the combination of our scents that appeals to me? We took no time to clean ourselves after we . . . made love._

_What astonishing words to be able to say after all these years of celibacy. Made love. I, Sherlock Holmes, made love to John Watson. Or rather, he made love to me. His touch was so gentle and yet so knowing, I found myself pouring out my seed into his care before I realized what was happening._

_Did he also release when I did? I searched my memory for some hint I had not left him unfulfilled in my innocence of what to do. Biting my lip, I thought back to the sounds and movements that might be a clue to his reactions but all I could hear was my cry of delight._

_How very selfish of me and how very kind of him to so ignore my ungentlemanly behavior. In my self-disgust, I hugged him to me too hard and heard him sigh against my shoulder. Freezing with dismay, I waited for his reaction to our changed state._

_His head arose and he took part of his weight from me to lean up on one arm. Sleepy blue eyes glowed in the early morning light and his smile rivaled the sun. I swallowed nervously and awaited his verdict._

_"Good morning, Holmes." His voice was still sleep roughened and it poured over my senses like honey. "I do hope you do not regret our love making last night because I have a very strong urge to do it again." And without another word he took my mouth in another of the voluptuous kisses in which he excels._

_I gasped, I think. Whatever my reaction, it deterred him not at all as he pressed between my lips with the hot wet tongue that twined so easily with mine. Again, I lost my breath and what little remained of my earlier inhibitions. It seems John does not regret our changing relationship in the slightest._

******************

Two months have passed since John took me on as apprentice lover and I like to think I have repaid his tutelage with increasing joy. I was afraid happiness would interfere with my work but it seems I still retain enough control to set aside my emotions and provide the mental workmanship to solve the little problems that come my way.

I informed Mycroft shortly after our return to London that I would, for the first time, be drawing on the funds left by our father at his death. He merely blinked once and agreed to deposit one hundred pounds in the Baker Street account each month. I know Watson worries he does not provide his fair share of the operating expenses and since he is in charge of that household account, this will help settle his mind.

I find I watch him even more closely than I did before, easing his worries and trying to address situations before they become problems for him. All these years he watched over me, now it's my turn to return his care. I find myself looking for little ways to make him smile with all the joy of which he is capable. 

Watching the worry line between his eyes disappear more than makes up for the disavowal of my words at the reading of their will. *They wished nothing of me and I wish nothing of them.* Harsh words but truly spoken and twenty years later my wounded pride seems such a petty thing against his enjoyment of one of the little extras the money provides.

It's said love makes fools of us all and the pundits may be right for I find myself thinking very foolish thoughts right now while I watch him lock the door to our rooms and lean against it with a very enigmatic look on his face.

"Holmes. Are we quite done with the alarms and excursions of the day? No more beautiful clients flinging themselves in your arms or kissing you on the cheek while I sit on the villain of the piece waiting for Lestrade to stop gaping and relieve me of duty?" He stalked me like the bulldog I've so often compared him to while I blushed and tried to think of something to say.

The sardonic note in his voice faded away and he trapped me my chair with a hand on either arm, his beautiful face just inches away. "I can applaud her taste in throwing herself on you since I have the same desire daily but I could wish you had embraced her a little less enthusiastically."

I blushed even harder since it was his grappling with her homicidal brother which had tensed my muscles into what seems to have appeared to be an affectionate embrace. "Watson, I was preparing to set her aside and help you but you needed no help at all. I hardly had the time to uncover his perfidy before you had disarmed him and had him well in hand. You were very quick."

His eyes crinkled and he dropped a gentle kiss on my parted lips before drawing back and offering me his hand. "I see. Perhaps you would favor me with another of your famous massages since I took the brunt of today's struggle?"

I let him pull me from my comfortable seat by the fire. "You are not hurt, really?" I was sure he was teasing me, something he did much more frequently now we were lovers but I needed to be sure.

"Not hurt, my dear Sherlock but needy just the same." His eyes went sultry and I felt my pulse quicken with the knowledge that tonight he would make love to me again. We tried not to establish a pattern which might give us away to those around us and it had been two nights since we had last enjoyed each other's body.

"Perhaps an early night would be best. I wouldn't want your muscles to stiffen to uncomfortable levels." Venturing a kiss across the knuckles of the hand still in mind, I enjoyed the light in his eyes and the smile that told me my double entendre was appreciated with sly delight.

We separated to our separate bedrooms to prepare for each other and I undressed quickly after stoking up my fire. I had the bigger bed since I tend to be a restless sleeper and I've always enjoyed the freedom to move across the surface of the mattress during my nightmares. Of course, now it had been months since my last bad dream, for I now had a bedmate who believed the closer he held me the better.

I left off my nightshirt since Watson had told me how arousing he finds it when he comes in and finds me wearing nothing but the sheet. Sliding between the Egyptian cotton sheets with their silky smooth texture, I shiver and wish I'd taken the time to warm them with the warming pan on the hearth. But the door opens and John comes through, locking it behind him and the light in his eyes makes me shiver for quite a different reason.

Suddenly the room is warmed by his smile and I briefly ponder the phenomena and wonder if it could be reproduced by scientific experiment. But the sight of him shrugging off his robe and unbuttoning his nightshirt detrains my thought and I lift the edge of the sheet in silent invitation. He accepts and gathers me into his heated embrace. We rock together silently while I bury my head in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

"Oh, this is heaven, Sherlock. The last two days have been never-ending without the chance to hold you so." His hands leave trails of fire down my back and then back up. He touches so matter of factly while I must think first and plan just how to touch after I am sure he truly desires it.

"That's right, love, touch me there and show me how much you have missed me." His words end in a sigh when I move to drink his words with my mouth. Our tongues duel in lazy fashion, content for the moment to relearn tastes and shapes. I think perhaps I have become as addicted to him as I ever was to the cocaine habit.

One of his hands caresses my hip and slides between us to create a tunnel for our shafts to slide together in a damp embrace. Once I might have felt uncomfortable with such an intimate act, fearing the leaking fluid would disgust him but he has shown me that such a natural occurrence brings him great delight. And I must admit it also brings me a certain pride to feel the drops that leak from him in his excitement.

For I am the one who excites him, a fact that never fails to humble me. He breathes life into me and joy such as I have never known. He pulls me on top of him and we rock together slowly drawing out the moment. His hands have settled on my lower back and he has begun the new caress, the one that startled me a week ago. It seemed so very intimate, this slow slide down between my cheeks across that most private place.

But he calmed my fears and told me in no uncertain terms that he found every inch of me desirable and he promised that he would not hurt me. Which of course I knew. Only his leaving me would destroy me so I feared nothing he chose to do with my body. And it was pleasurable to feel him claim all of me although he told me there was more to come.

But this time, I wished to give him pleasure and erase the picture he had of me with my arms full of the fainting Miss MacLaren. So, I dared to move down his body with my hands and tongue as he had done with me, his encouraging groans my guide. His nipples were almost as sensitive as mine and I lavished them with wet kisses and a steady sucking that brought his hands to my head to hold me there.

His murmuring cries inflamed my desire to return the great care he lavishes on me and I moved still lower, pausing to tongue his navel. His hips came off the bed and I held them down while I contemplated my next caress. His manhood stood straight and tall, jutting up from the red-gold curls that covered his chest and groin. My fingers combed through the silky hairs while my eyes judged whether I would be able to take the next step.

"You don't have to, Holmes. It is an acquired taste." His voice was affectionate and his thumb rubbed my hand where it lay on his thigh.

"I know, John. But I think it is time I acquired it." I quirked an eyebrow at him and he laughed once before he choked as I ran my tongue from the base of his sturdy cock to the rosy head. Such soft skin and once I have pushed his foreskin gently down away from the now purpling head, I can truly appreciate the silky texture.

He is trying to stifle his moans but when my tongue laves his entire shaft all along the great vein that runs just under the head and back up again, his moans turn to pants and I must exert greater pressure to keep his hips down on the bed. Being careful of my teeth, I engulf the flaring head and tongue the beads of clear fluid that are escaping from the tiny slit.

He keens once and pulls my pillow over his face to muffle his cries. It's very hard to smile and suck a cock at the same time but I think I succeeded because I felt his organ pulse twice before it spurted into my mouth. It startled me for a moment and I tried to catalog the taste while holding down his hips and not letting his shaft gag me at the same time.

Bitter and salty, yet with an underlying sweetness which must be an essential part of his nature. I muse while I lap all the fluid he can pulse out into my keeping. Is this what I taste like, I wonder? His hand is back on my cheek and I look up to see the lazy satiated look I love to see.

"For your first time, you were . . . inspired." His husky voice makes my own shaft quiver in unfulfilled need.

"I think I will need to practice frequently if I am to aspire to your heights." My dry humor delights him and he pulls me up beside him to kiss me. Can he taste himself on my tongue? But my question fades in the shiver that comes from his warm hand caressing my heavy shaft.

"It is my constant practice that enables me to recognize perfection when I see it." He tongued my shaft in much the same fashion I had used moments before and I wriggled when he added a daring caress to my full sac. His touch was delicate but firm and I felt my balls plump and firm in his grasp.

"And you, my dearest friend, are perfection." He breathed once on the sensitive head before taking me fully into his hot mouth. I tried not to thrust upward, I truly did try to keep control but with a flick of his tongue he destroyed all my restraint.

The warm, moist heat of his mouth and the firm touch of his fingers sent me into a haze of desire that quickly peaked in the ecstasy that I only know with him. He's the only one I can trust with my precious self-control. The only one who I can trust with my soul. For a moment, I think I blacked out for when I next fully knew my surroundings, he had cradled me in his strong arms and pulled the blankets over us in a cocoon of warmth that was most welcome.

He kissed me most gently and this time I realized the different taste in his mouth was me. Or rather the remains of my orgasm. I was not as sweet as he and when I mentioned it to him he shook with silent laughter.

"Some think human semen can be affected by diet, Holmes. And I drink quite a bit more ale than you do. It may or may not have a sweetening affect." He chuckled and brushed a kiss across my eyes which were drooping with weariness.

"Perhaps another experiment is in order then? I will increase my beer intake and you can tell me if I sweeten." I smothered a yawn in his shoulder and smiled at his almost silent chortle.

"You taste as the nectar of the gods might have once tasted on the slopes of Mount Olympus. You need never change for me. I love you as you are, Sherlock." His blue eyes glowed in the firelight and I felt again how he wraps his love around me, protecting me from all imagined hurts.

"And I love you, John. Who would have thought I could love at all? Let alone someone as worthy as you." I stroked his hair back from his forehead and watched him shake his head in pretended anger.

"You are more than worthy of love, Sherlock. And if I must tell you every day for the rest of our lives until you believe me, I shall do so." He chided me gently.

I smiled and closed my eyes, allowing him to win this argument. His blindness to my many faults is an endearing part of him and I secretly relish his championship. Perhaps someday I can tell him what he truly means to me. How his love has freed me from an iron cage of self-denial and self-hatred.

Someday, soon.

**********************


	3. Experiments in Loving

************* Sherlock ***************

Lestrade was quite beside himself with good cheer. Scotland Yard would soon have the credit for catching the Butcher of Battersby while I had the satisfaction of the unraveling of his nefarious schemes. I watched him clap Watson on the arm and suggest we celebrate with a quick pint.

"Capitol idea, Lestrade." I spoke up, startling them both. "I am experimenting with different ales to determine their nutritive effects. Why don't we stop at the Battersby Armes?"

Watson choked and quickly caught up with me. "Wicked, Holmes." He chastised me under his breath before beckoning to Lestrade to hurry up.

Ah, he does remember my offer to increase my beer intake to see if it would sweeten the taste of my seed. I've made him laugh and I feel unbearably smug about my attempt at humor. Now, if I could just contribute my share of the banter in the pub. Small talk is not my forte and this is the time I usually spend going over the case. Tracing my logic and the steps I took to apprehend the culprit, going over the case to see if I could have done better. 

But that was impossible in the crowded pub of jovial beer drinkers around us. The jostling and noise didn't seem to affect my companions and I felt a twinge of jealousy at their easy acceptance of the loud voiced bonhomie. I drank my pint with the feeling it was indeed an experiment. In bad taste. I really do prefer a fine French wine to our national beverage.

Lost in my thoughts, I hardly noticed the other two had finished their drinks and Lestrade was thanking me once again. Watson elbowed me discretely and I heard enough to answer civilly.

"Nonsense, Lestrade, you did a fine job and the credit belongs to your team. I was glad to be of service but we really must get back to London. Pressing matters, don't you know?" I managed a smile over my sudden headache and we said our farewells outside the pub before separating. Lestrade went back to the police station to take charge of the prisoner and we headed for the train depot to catch the 3:15 to Paddington.

We had five minutes to spare and Watson spoke to the attendant before joining me in one of the first class compartments. My head was pounding in earnest now and I leaned back with a sigh of relief. The only sound I could hear was the mechanical noises of the train and they could be tuned out unlike the human voices from the pub that had assaulted my ears with their ceaseless chatter.

Watson took the seat across from me and spoke in his doctor tone, low and soothing to my ears. "The attendant will bring us tea as soon as we're underway. Then we can pull down the shades and you can put your feet up and try to relax. Headache?"

I nodded and opened my eyes a slit. The light always seemed to bother me more when one of these sudden blinding headaches appeared out of nowhere. But he'd already drawn the outer shades and in the dimmer light of the compartment, I could see his worried expression. He has often told me how helpless he feels to ease this pain of mine, save for a few herbal remedies which he views with skepticism but must acknowledge for their benefits.

"I will be fine, Watson." Even though we are alone in this place, I find it hard to use his first name. That is reserved for our intimate moments when we are just the two of us in the privacy of our home. "It comes swiftly and goes as quickly. I think it was the noise of the pub and the exceedingly bad beer. My stomach is still rebelling against the hops." I shrug and feel the train lurch forward, pulling away from yet another case for my files.

"It was not the best of brews, I'll grant you." Watson chuckled gently and got up to take the folding tray from the attendant. He also handed over our tickets to be punched and requested we not be bothered again until London. The crinkle of a pound note changing hands brought a slight smile to my face as did the clicking of the lock on our compartment door.

"Now, that's better." Watson pulled the inner blinds to the train corridor as well so the only light was the single gas fixture on the wall above his head. "A cup of tea will help settle your stomach and I happen to have some of those ginger snaps in my bag that you like."

Of course, he did, I thought fondly while I watched him fuss over the tea pot. Always he looks after me, even to the least detail. Ginger snaps, indeed. What ever would I do without him? It occurs to me I should say that more often, just as I should say 'I love you' when he doesn't expect it. It is so hard to let down all the barriers after years of building them up.

But Watson, of all the people in my life, would never hurt me or at least he'd never mean to hurt. "That would be most welcome, Watson. I would be quite lost without your care."

He beams at me and twists off the lid of the clear jar that hold the ginger snaps that Mrs. Hudson bakes so well. Their scent fills the stuffy air and my stomach roils once before settling down. Hastily, I drink some of the strong tea before accepting one of the snaps. My sense of smell joins my sight in acute sensitivity whenever I have one of these attacks.

I manage to keep the small treat down with another cup of tea and the movement of the train acts as a lullaby to my hyperactive senses. Watson urges me down onto the long seat, using his own coat to pillow my aching head. Sitting by my hip, he massages my temples with his gentle touch and I breathe deeply of the lovely Watson-scent, imprinting it into my brain and body with every breath.

"You have a healing touch, Watson." I murmur softly, knowing only he will hear me. He always hears me.

"I like touching you, Holmes. The skin of your temples is like satin beneath my fingers. Your hair is soft . . . like the pin feathers of a dove. And your eyebrows are silky smooth wings above your beautiful eyes. I can't decide whether to compare them to the gray sky just before dawn or to the storm tossed waves that curl into shore."

I open my eyes to watch his face while he makes love to me with his husky voice and lilting words. The pain in my head is melting away under the light of his smile and the tenderness of his touch. Perhaps it is mesmerism . . . or simply his own brand of magic. I never believed in fairies or any of the childhood stories that Nanny told me. But it seems magic comes in many guises and Watson's love is a miracle for which I thank the Universe everyday.

"Watson. I do love you." There, I said it out loud in the light of day or rather the gloom of a railway carriage. I love watching his eyes light up with pleasure and watch breathlessly as he bends to kiss me. His lips are so soft on mine while his mustache tickles me into smiling.

"How is your headache now, Holmes?" He murmurs against my lips in between little nips of his strong white teeth and licks of his warm moist tongue.

"Better." I manage to say, holding back my moans with difficulty. He straightens with a very wicked gleam in his eye and brings his hands down my face and over my chest very slowly. His heat burns me through my linen shirt and I wait with baited breath to see what he'll do next.

His clever fingers undo all the small buttons on my waistcoat and push the wool aside to stroke the linen into my skin. I arch helplessly up into those warm, sure hands that know me so intimately but I am not prepared for the next caress.

"Why, Holmes, there appears to be some swelling here that feels quite bothersome. Would you like me to examine it and give you my expert opinion?" His left hand rests on the buttons of my trousers and I feel my shaft twitch and come to life while I gaze on him with unbelieving eyes.

*Surely, he would not so tease me in a railway carriage?* I try to pull my scattering thoughts together and calculate how much time we have left before reaching London but his knowing fingers have unbuttoned me and are even now delving within to find the 'swelling'.

"It feels quite . . . painfully swollen, my dear friend. Is there some discomfort?" He grins at me teasingly and cups my hardening shaft in a caressing fist. "Does it hurt when I press here?"

I barely bite back a moan while he rubs his thumb over the small slit at the end of my shaft and my hips move towards him while my eyes meet his smoldering gaze. It appears I have much to learn about the art of seduction in a railway compartment. Thankfully, Watson is a master.

"The pain is quite . . . exquisite." I manage to stammer out and he nods as if we were a normal doctor and patient in his office.

"A few tests and I'll be able to tell you exactly what is amiss. I am rarely wrong when it comes to diagnosing *this* ailment." Laying back the folds of cloth, he exposes my hardened shaft to the pale light of the gas light, his hand loosely clasping and stroking the shaft while his eyes contemplate the rosy head which has begun to leak a single tear.

"Yes, I believe I have seen this before. Let me see what I can do about relieving the pressure. We wouldn't want you to explode, now would we?" He teases before bending to lick away the seeping fluid. "I believe you had four beers this week. I should check and see if your experiment has been successful."

And with that matter-of-fact statement, he swallows my shaft down to the root. How I kept from crying out, I will never know. Squeezing my eyes shut, I watch stars shoot across my eyelids. The blood pounds in my ears until even the noise of the rails is silent. The feel of that moist cavern engulfing me floods me with a passion I have heretofore reserved for our bed.

Suddenly, I was reduced to a panting, quivering body capable of no coherent thought or rational reasoning. The blood pooled in my groin, far from my brain and I could no longer form words, only soft moans that went on and on and on. When he ran his tongue over the large vein that travels up the shaft to the head, I felt it like a tangy taste in the back of my throat.

All I managed was a strangled, "Watson!". He chuckled while I erupted and drank me down like the beer he'd teased me about earlier. I collapsed into a boneless heap on the plush seat of the carriage. The only thought I was capable of was the wish I could have watched him finish me off. He always looks so delicious with his beautiful lips stretched around my weeping flesh.

But I was suddenly exhausted and could only feebly grip his wrist in expression of my thanks. He buttoned me up and kissed me gently, sharing my taste with a deep stroke of his tongue between my lips.

"Sweeter already, love. Sleep now for a while. I will wake you when we reach London."

"Love you." I murmured before falling into the first restful slumber since this case began. My last thought was how I looked forward to testing out our hypothesis in the privacy of our home. Sweeter, indeed.

****************


	4. Sonata for Two Lovers

*********** Sherlock ***************

I gazed moodily out of the sitting room windows, brooding on the appalling lack of mental stimulation. Watson sat behind me reading the London Times very quietly as if too much rustling of paper would provoke me into an outraged diatribe. Now, that thought brought a small smile to my lips and I turned to gaze on the man who held my happiness in his hands.

Faultlessly turned out and impeccably groomed, he was due to head out soon for his daily rounds to those patients who refused to be attended by his partner. That number was growing instead of decreasing since our trip to Cornwall three months ago. My business had fallen into a slump while the seasonal increase in sickness had my friend working much longer hours of late.

He lowered the paper and caught my gaze with his own. His blue eyes were so gentle, the corners crinkling into laugh lines. His lips quirked up into a smile and I watched somewhat breathlessly while he laid the paper aside and crossed the room to stand before me. He had to look up a bit since I am four and one half inches taller than he but it did not seem to bother him.

"I will say it for you, Holmes. There has been an appalling paucity of interesting criminal behavior in London of late." He mimicked my accents perfectly.

"Ah, Watson, that was not exactly what I was thinking." I sighed. "I was thinking your eyes this morning are the exact same shade of blue as the new Wedgwood teapot on our breakfast table. And just as beautiful."

He blushed and shook his head while I smiled in triumph. It is not often I can disconcert him with a compliment. I am very bad at them and have learned to listen to his so I may formulate my own. My reward is usually a fond look if we are in company or if we are alone, he gifts me with a caress that makes my body come completely alive.

"If I did not have an extremely long day ahead of me, with patients from one end of London to the other, I would take you back to bed and thank you properly for that lovely remark." He brushed a finger over my dry lips and I tasted his warm touch with the tip of my tongue. "Instead, I must leave you to your own devices and the thought of tonight. Until then, my love."

His kisses are sweeter than any honey from my bees in Sussex. Each one different and precious for it has only been such a few months since we have shared them. I can taste buttered toast and Darjeeling tea. It never occurred to me that particular combination had the qualities of an aphrodisiac.

"Be careful, Watson. Do not, I beg you, catch the sickness of this season. Or I shall be forced to put you to bed and nurse you back to health." I managed somewhat breathlessly after his lips left mine.

He had crossed to the hall tree and removed his coat and my request caught him by surprise. He chuckled while shrugging into it and finding his bowler hat, he perched it atop his head and opened the door to the outer hall.

"You know, Holmes, I may just let you do that." And with a twinkle in his eye, he closed the door behind him and I listened while he took the stairs and said a cheery goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.

Just like that, he took all the life from what had been a cozy sitting room. *What maudlin thoughts, Sherlock. Surely you can do better than that?* Sighing, I contemplated the long day ahead of me. My scrapbooks were done for the moment, I had no experiments to pursue and I had finished Professor Wingate's book on the geography of the Shetland Islands. 

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I half heartedly paced back and forth from one side of the room to the other. Stopping by the bookshelves, I realized none of them were worth a second reading. At least not now, when I was so out of sorts. It's at moments like these I most miss the cocaine, I mused and clenched my fists in the silk pockets of my dressing gown.

Best not to think of that, I decided and headed for my bedroom door to change into street clothes. I needed to go to the tobacco shop for my special mixture and to Harrod's for marmalade for Watson. Action suited my mood and not even the biting cold of a December freeze could dissuade me. Wrapping the cashmere muffler around my neck that John had given me to protect me from drafts, I smiled and headed out.

Mrs. Hudson probably breathed a sigh of relief when I left. Her cheery goodbye seemed quite heartfelt. I can be a sore trial to the good woman with my fits of ill humor and the days when I hibernate in the sitting room and refuse to let her give the room the 'good turning out' she seems to think it needs each day. So, I mentally added a stop at the Indian grocers on Reigate Street for some of the powder that she enjoyed using for our curries.

All in all, I spent the day in brisk walks from one part of London to another. Each purchase was ticked off my mental checklist and given into the hands of one of my Baker Street Irregulars for delivery to 221B Baker Street. They are never far away when I'm out roaming the City, just in case I should need them. Good boys, all of them and while not completely understanding of the two hours of schooling a day that I insist they take with Professor Jenkins, they are learning.

Hands in pockets, I mused on my experiment in education which had already seen young Hawkins studying full time with Professor Menton of the Geology Institute. His life on the streets was at an end and his old compatriots still muttered what a loss he was to their small gang of street urchins. Perhaps some of them would never understand the wider world into which he'd stepped but I rather thought some of them had begun to contemplate just what their schooling might lead to.

I smiled fondly at the thought of what havoc former Irregulars might have on London society in the far future. The world was changing and I couldn't help but think that most of the changes were for the better. I have never believed a man's birth should dictate what he must do for the rest of his natural life.

The sweet strains of a familiar melody caught my attention and I looked for Blind Peter, finding him on the next corner with his violin even in this bitter cold. Lengthening my stride, I soon reached him. The ends of his fingers in the cut-off leather gloves were almost white and his notes faltered occasionally with the stiffness creeping into his hands.

I waited until the young man listening to him had thrown his coin into the open violin case and moved on, before taking his place. Begging was forbidden in London but Blind Peter always gave good value with his music so he was considered a busker. And at the moment, a very cold one.

"Peter, it's Holmes." I spoke quietly so as not to startle him and he smiled and changed his tune to one I'd heard him play before. "Would you care to join me for a rather belated mid-day meal? I seem to have forgotten to eat today and I would value your opinion on an incident in the Blue Feather of which I just heard."

"Aye, 'twas a funny tale and I witnessed most of it, Mr. Holmes. A bit of food and a pint would go down a right treat about now. It's getting a wee bit cold for playing. I'll be flatting all my sharps if I don't take care." He chuckled and made short work of securing his violin, joining me in the short walk to the aforementioned Blue Feather.

The public house wasn't full and the proprietor quickly served us himself with the requested pints and shepherd's pie. Letting Peter eat while the food was hot allowed me to relax and complete my assessment of the pub's customers. We were seated in the rear and with my back to the wall, I could survey the interior with a sharp eye while taking a few bites to satisfy the pretense that my invitation had been for both of us. All men have their pride.

"Peter, what was the music you began to play when I introduced myself?" I broke into speech when I judged his initial pangs of hunger were satisfied.

"Yours." He said succinctly. My silence must have told him I did not understand. "We've known each other, what, ten years or so, Mr. Holmes? We've met on the streets and in the back rooms of pubs just like this one for years. I write little music pieces about the people I know. Short little themes that speak to me of those in my life. That one was yours."

"I see." My brain circled the concept and I realized the quiet chords interspersed with staccato notes did indeed sum up our meetings. He was an invaluable source of street gossip and had thrice been involved in investigations that had led to some rather violent offenders being removed from the streets of London. "Thank you, Peter. I believe I understand the concept. Someday, I would enjoy hearing other of your 'themes'. It is an intriguing idea. But for now, I would like to know more about the incident last week."

He chortled and proceeded to spin his tale with a little embellishment as most story tellers are wont to do. Even Watson can not resist adding to the adventures he publishes so regularly in the press. I chide him about the melodramatic touches but he points out, quite rightly, those little additions focus the attention on the problem rather than on us. He is much more intelligent than most people think.

***

My errands over, I walked home thinking about what Peter had said about people and music. I must admit to finding the idea intriguing, that a person could be identified by a set of musical chords and riffs. I mused over what Lestrade's theme would sound like. A brass horn played very loudly, perhaps. And Mrs. Hudson would be a cello movement, strong and sure yet spritely with delicate notes.

Only when I was home and comfortable in dressing gown and slippers, did I pull out my violin and begin to limber up my fingers. How would I describe John with the limited notes at my disposal? He has so great a soul, I wondered if it could be captured with a few simple chords on my violin. Perhaps only a full orchestra could do justice to his great and gentle heart. My fingers wandered through my favorite pieces and I felt my mind grow quiet and reflective.

John's return surprised me in the middle of a passage I thought might do for the part of him that is the healer. The time had flown by and he had the door open before I realized he'd come home. It had begun to snow again and he laid down his bag with a sigh of relief. Taking off his hat and hanging it on the rack, he protested my stoppage.

"Oh, please, Holmes. Do keep playing. That was a lovely air. I stood on the landing and listened to it with such a sense of peace. After a day of pain and suffering, it is good to come home to warmth and good music." He finished hanging up his coat and turned to me. "I didn't recognize it."

"Oh, it is just a little something, Watson. I came upon Blind Peter and stood him a noonday meal in return for his report of the district. It put me in the mood to practice." I laid my violin away and crossed to the side board to pour him a drink. He joined me and accepted it although not before kissing me briefly but thoroughly. It was fast becoming one of our little rituals when we'd been apart. Disconcerting at first, I'd grown to expect and even miss it if we were constrained by the presence of others. 

"Ah, yes. The street musician who plays so well." He savored the drink and moved to the fireplace to enjoy its welcome warmth. "I remember when the two of you played dueling violins whilst you were pretending to be a busker to catch the burglar who preyed on the blind. It is too bad that he must ply his trade in such terrible weather."

I curled up in my chair while waiting for Mrs. Hudson to serve our dinner and questioned him about his day. He'd lost a patient to the cough that had invaded London. He described the family grief at the loss of their patriarch and I marveled at the differences in family feeling. I had felt nothing but relief when my parents died so suddenly in the carriage accident. 

Luckily, our dinner was served before I had to reply. I think he would not understand my reactions since his family is very close and loving. His father's death the year before had affected him deeply. He still remembered him fondly and would often share stories about him when an incident reminded him of his youth. I wondered if he ever wished for my own reminiscences but much as I hated to disappoint him, my past had to remain closed. Remembering brought only pain and I would spare him if I could.

Mrs. Hudson had surpassed herself with a savory pottage of beef and vegetables accompanied by thick slices of fresh bread and butter. A simple meal but filling and quite satisfying after a day out in the bitter cold. I could see John begin to relax in the warmth and when he finally finished his dinner, he sighed and stretched as he left the table.

"I think it will be an early night for me, Holmes. I will read a little in the new Lancet before dropping off." He smiled at me from the foot of the stairs, his eyes already drooping and I nodded.

"I shall play you to sleep, Watson." I reined in my libido and offered my music for his pleasure. He smiled and ascended the stairs, the copy of his journal tucked under his arm. I would check later to be sure he hadn't fallen asleep with his lamp lit as he had many times before.

I gave him half an hour of his favorite tunes before my fingers led back into the song I was composing. Strong and gentle by turns, the notes seemed to weave together into one cohesive theme which spoke of John in all his varied moods. His earlier words about the duet that Blind Peter and I had played stuck in my mind and part of me toyed with the idea of composing another theme that would portray me.

It could not be as beautiful as his since my natural coldness and reserve are the opposite of his open good-hearted nature but something measured and linear would provide a counterbalance to his lilting melody. I sighed and put my violin away, banking the fire and stealing up the stairs to check on him.

He was sound asleep with the journal fallen open on his chest. Crossing the room, I gently removed it and bookmarked his place before extinguishing the lamp. In the dying fire, he looked so peacefully unaware of all the trials and tribulations of the world. Tenderly, I kissed him goodnight and felt his response before leaving as quietly as I had come.

*****

The next week passed profitably on my part with a small case of espionage brought to my attention by Mycroft and the finalizing of my composition. I'd had to travel to Paris while tracking the stolen documents and taking my violin with me, I practiced the pieces of my music until I decided that nothing more could be done with them. Contacting my cousin Auguste Verner, I went about the necessary business of having my scribbles transcribed into working sheet music.

The afternoon of my departure saw me playing my part in the studio of one of Verner's musical friends who played Watson's part to perfection. He asked me who the composer was and I retreated into subterfuge. I had to have a name and so chose my pseudonym of Sigerson, the Norwegian. The young man suggested an appropriate title that subsequently went onto the sheet music before publishing.

**Sonata for Two Lovers by H. Sigerson**

Leaving it behind, I returned to London with the stolen papers which subsequently disappeared back into the government archives via my brother Mycroft. He invited Watson and I to dinner at Simpson's to celebrate their return. And I accepted for the two of us but for the following night. I was much too eager to celebrate my homecoming in more private fashion. 

Mrs. Hudson greeted me at the door with beaming smiles and admonitions to wash up immediately for dinner would be on the table before I knew it. While she took my hat and coat, she spoke of the hope that my coming would tempt the poor doctor into a semblance of his former appetite. 

She disappeared into the back hall and her kitchen, leaving me to dash up the stairs in a most unseemly manner. Taking them two at a time, I paused only to catch my breath before opening the door into the warm familiar setting. Watson was turning from the side board with a glass of amber fluid in his hand and my abrupt entrance must have startled him for it slipped from his nerveless fingers and bounced on the carpet.

I had the presence of mind to lock the door behind me before meeting him in the middle of the room where he proceeded to try and absorb my body into his with his strong embrace. I must admit to a certain need to feel every inch of him against me as well. Our mouths glued themselves together and his taste exploded on my tongue with an explosion of familiar flavor.

Gradually the kiss gentled and I rested my forehead against his when our lips finally parted. 

"I missed you." "Missed you."

We laughed at our spontaneous speech and I let him go reluctantly to unlock the door for Mrs. Hudson and the maid whose steps I could hear on the stair. He turned away and used one of the napkins to try and mop up the spilled whiskey with a trembling hand. I excused myself while Mrs. Hudson was tut-tutting over the stain, to go and wash up. Looking at myself in the mirror, I hardly recognized the smiling man who gazed back at me.

For the first time in my life, I had someone who missed me. It was an astonishing thought since I had always prided myself on my ability to need nothing and no one. It is rather frightening to miss someone so very much. And even worse, I was glorying in his evident need of me as betrayed in our kiss. Irrational, indeed. But as I dried my hands, I knew there was no going back now.

For I did need him, in all ways and forever. Going back to the sitting room, I watched his eyes light up from where he stood by the table. Accepting my drink from his hand, I began the description of my travels and the case which would get us through dinner and a very early bedtime.

His eyes told me I would get little sleep tonight and the thought warmed me even more than the whiskey. Mrs. Hudson was in and out throughout the meal while the maid, Kathleen, worked on hands and knees to stop the stain from setting into the carpet. She quietly left while I was describing dinner with my cousin whom Watson has never met. Of course, I made no mention of my composition.

Mrs. Hudson brought in a delicious compote of figs in syrup, sprinkled with almonds for our desert and beamed at our praise of her cooking. I was able to tell her quite truthfully that no meal in Paris could compare, although I was thinking of the company rather than the food. 

Finally, the meal was over and John and I settled in for a time of reading in front of the fire until the clearing away was finished. I managed a rather convincing yawn while Kathleen was clearing the last of the dishes under Mrs. Hudson's watchful eye onto the silver tray.

"All this traveling has quite worn me out, Watson. Would you think me rude if I turned in without answering all your questions?" I stretched a little and watched his eyes gleam in the firelight.

"By no means, Holmes. Have an early night and I shall save my questions for tomorrow when I can write your answers down for my files. I don't expect you slept very well in your Paris hotel." His voice was matter of fact.

"Quite true. Their beds are much too soft for my back. I almost pulled the mattress off the bed and laid it on the floor but was afraid of shocking the maid who brought my tea each morning. Until later then, Watson." I yawned again and said goodnight to the others who were just leaving.

I heard the door locked behind them and the sounds of the fire being banked through my open bedroom door. I was undressing with all the speed of which I was capable when I heard his steps on the stairs. I had at least five minutes to wash up and slip into bed. The water on my dresser was lukewarm but was sufficient for my sponge bath by the fire which I'd lit when I'd been in earlier.

Paying careful attention to those parts of myself where I hoped to soon have his hands and lips, I shivered from the need to put myself totally into his warm embrace. Dropping the washcloth into the basin, I crawled into the chilly bed only to find a heated brick at the foot under the sheets. Mrs. Hudson is indeed a treasure.

I sighed a little at the welcome feel of my own bed. The only thing that would make it better would be John's presence and I lay there propped on the pillows waiting for him with a yearning I could not deny. He entered and locked the door behind him. His eyes gleaming in the dim light, he tore off his dressing gown and nightshirt before joining me in bed.

Clasping him to me, I reveled in the feel of satin skin and silken hair. Soft murmurs filled the silence. Disjointed phrases of welcome joined with sighs of need. His tongue bathed me from neck to groin while his busy hands shaped me into wholeness. 

"Sherlock, it was torture to come home each night to these empty rooms. I couldn't eat or sleep. I awakened at every creaking floor board or gust of wind." He spoke between caresses, his bristling mustache a tickling counterpoint to his soft lips. 

"I, too, spent each night huddled in that horrible bed, thinking of you and craving your touch." My hands threaded through his brown curls in the massage he enjoys most.

He paused in his soft licks to my rising cock and smiled up at me. "Sherlock, do you trust me?"

Disconcerted at his question, I'm sure I looked quite bewildered but I answered truthfully, surmising that it had something to do with our lovemaking. "Of course. You would never hurt me."

He dropped a kiss on the rosy head beneath his lips and I felt it jerk and weep a tear of need. "Thank you, love. I need to ensure your comfort before we go any further down this road and for that I will need something." He let go of me and leaned over the side of the bed. 

I felt myself begin to wilt while all manner of strange thoughts raced through my mind. The green jar he fished out of the pocket of his dressing gown was unfamiliar but the scent that wafted up to me after he uncorked it was not. It was the lotion that I had used on his sore shoulder so many months ago. The one that had replaced the stinging liniment.

After pouring some onto my stomach, he smiled up at me and laid the jar aside on the bedside table. I smiled back if a little uncertainly while he coated his fingers with the viscous fluid. Then his hands were back paying close attention to my waning erection and the feel of the slick lotion brought a whole new level of sensation to my flesh. One hand tenderly stroked the base of my shaft while the other rolled the twin sacs which lay below between gentle fingers.

He nudged my legs farther apart so he could settle into place more comfortably and I splayed them to either side, already raising my hips in restless thrusts into his hands. But when he feathered a gentle caress lower still, I blushed and stiffened at the still unfamiliar sensation.

"I would never do anything to hurt you, Sherlock but I need to make a rather invasive touch to make sure we can go further. May I?" His voice was as gentle as his touch and I nodded hesitantly, hoping for a further explanation.

He smiled and rubbed short little strokes over the puckered entrance to my body. It tingled directly to my groin and I moved again rather restlessly until with a start I realized his finger was sinking into my body. I froze and felt my muscles tighten against the intruder. He stopped immediately but did not remove it.

"You have a gland inside you, Sherlock. All men do." His doctor voice was soothing and I wondered at his composure. "When we reach a certain age, it needs to be checked for size and shape. It's called the prostate gland and is partially responsible for our ejaculatory fluid."

My mind raced over what I knew of the gland from my hospital studies. While I thought, my muscles relaxed and I felt his finger move deeper within me. There was no pain, just a vague discomfort and no little dismay at the embarrassing touch. But he was smiling at me and his free hand was massaging my stomach in soothing little circles that relaxed me onto his hand.

"Middle aged men, like ourselves, John?" I managed to ask.

"Exactly, Sherlock. Men in the prime of life." The searching finger circled and suddenly I felt a flash of . . . something. My soft exclamation coincided with his own. Another touch and I could see by the intent look on his face that what he was finding was reassuring. "Just right, love. Not enlarged or too spongy. I think you will find this particular caress an intriguing one, Sherlock."

His sudden grin and the warm flush of heat from deep inside me came together and I felt myself hardening within his grasp. Again and again he brushed against that spot inside while his warm mouth began the gentle sucking of the head of my shaft. His firm grasp of the shaft itself provided the pressure I needed to let go of my inhibitions and come.

Feeling the flash fire tingle run through my limbs, I fell over the edge of the abyss and into such pleasure as I had never felt in exactly this way before. I spilled my seed in long bursts that he quickly drank down. The little aftershocks continued and I jerked when he slowly withdrew his finger.

"Did I hurt you?" His anxious voice sounded by my ear and I shook my head and kissed him, not knowing what to say. I had enjoyed it and yet I feared it too. His earlier statement about 'going further' was tickling my memory of something I'd read once, long ago at University.

"We are both in excellent condition, Sherlock. My own doctor performed the same examination of me while you were gone." His tones were rueful. "Although, I did *not* enjoy the process, face down on the examining table under a bright light in his rather cold examining room."

"Poor Watson." I smiled up at him where he leaned over me. So, this was something that pertained to both of us, my busy mind picked at the clues he was giving me.

"Perhaps, I could persuade you to perform it again when we are not so tired. The gland gives great pleasure when stimulated properly." John hid a yawn in my shoulder and so missed my look of dawning recollection. I held him close and tried to come to terms with the thought of inserting part of me, even just a finger, into him.

"You have experience, then, in this most intimate touch?" I felt a sudden jealousy rise up when I remembered the male lover he'd lost in the war. Had he shared this with him?

"Marcus and I shared many things, love. This was one of many touches that are pleasurable and it leads to the most complete sharing of bodies that is possible for two lovers." He rubbed his hard length against my hip and I felt it twitch when I took it into my gentle clasp.

But my mind made the connection between his words and actions and suddenly without any warning, I froze. He quickly realized something was wrong, slipping from my grasp and holding me close. Rocking me gently and pillowing me on top of his body, he whispered urgently in my ear.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? Please tell me why you're shaking."

I hadn't realized I was but my mind was racing from one thought to another and I could not have answered him if my life depended on it. The thoughts that came to mind centered on the one time I saw a man and a woman having sex. I was seven years old and playing in the barn's hayloft when one of the maids had slipped inside to meet her lover.

They'd kissed and undressed each other quickly and I watched with curious eyes while the stable hand freed his large member from the leather pants and without any words at all, thrust into her. Her legs had come around his waist and she moaned at every thrust while he silently slammed into her. She'd obviously felt a change in his stroke because she'd suddenly pushed him away and said something I couldn't hear.

He'd grunted and flipped her over onto her stomach on the pile of hay before spreading her cheeks and thrusting into what I had assumed to be the same place as before. Her shriek was muffled in the straw and I wondered if he were hurting her but then she had pushed back and he'd begun to thrust in and out again. Their moans wafted up to the hayloft where I'd been playing and when they finally stopped moving, I kept very quiet for fear they would hear me and report me to my tutor.

With adult eyes, looking back over the memory, I realized she'd probably told him not to come inside of her because of the fear of pregnancy so he'd simply taken a different route to his pleasure and used her nether hole instead. Since men have only one entrance, this must be how they make love. I berated myself for never having seen that before and felt a frisson of fear at the thought.

"Sherlock, please. Tell me what is wrong." John's voice was frantic and I realized that I'd totally tuned him out while I relived the memory. Gazing up into his worried blue eyes, I wondered how to tell him of my fear.

"I'm sorry. A . . . a memory came to me that rather shocked me. It is nothing you did, John. I am just not sure I am ready for the . . . next step." My voice faltered.

"Oh, my dearest love. I am an idiot. We will never do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. Some men never get beyond what we have done and they lead wonderful lives of pleasure." His voice berated himself and I protested with my hands, pulling him closer to me and covering his lips with a finger.

"It is simply a new idea for me. The feelings were not . . . without some pleasure. We are speaking of . . ." I could not find the right words.

He kissed my finger. "Anal penetration. When done properly and with great care, it is very, very pleasurable. But it can also hurt badly if not done with care and if we never get to that point, we will still be able to love and enjoy ourselves."

"You have done it before?" I hated my hesitancy but I had to know.

"Yes. I have both given and received that particular pleasure. But it was another time and place. I loved Marcus very much but what I felt for him pales in comparison to what I feel for you. You are my heart and soul, Sherlock. I could not live without you. If this makes you uncomfortable then we shall speak no more of it." He held me close and I felt his shaft, no longer hard, against my stomach.

"Poor, John, this is what comes of seducing virgins." I tried a little humor to leaven our conversation. "I *am* uncomfortable but that is because I know so little about the subject. Let me tell you of the memory I just recalled."

We held each other while I spoke of my seven year old self and the incident in the barn. He wondered aloud why I had had no one to ask and that led to my very brief explanation of the tutor who'd replaced Nanny. He held back his comments for fear of saying something about my childhood but I could read the indignation in his eyes. He would wrap love around even my past if he could.

And it was that thought that settled the conflict in my mind. John loved me, even when I was being the infuriatingly logical rational detective with no apparent feelings. His love knew no boundaries and I refused to erect more of my own walls. If this was the next step in what I'd playfully termed my seduction, then I would simply look forward to a new experience. 

"John." My tone must have warned him I'd made a decision, for resignation flashed across his face before he could hide it. "I love you." At his look of joy, I made another mental note to say it more often. It joined several similar memorandums. "And I trust you with all I am. If we go slowly, I will do my very best to bring you the same great pleasure you give me every day."

"Thank you, Holmes." His eyes were moist. "You are quite the bravest man I have ever met. We will proceed with care and caution. I promise you we will both enjoy the journey. It is not one sided, you know. When it comes time for the final sharing, I would very much like for you to take me first. The very thought of taking you deep inside of my body gives me great pleasure."

I felt my heart skip a beat while the vision of him lying impaled on my cock, beneath me filled my brain with fire. We had both hardened at this point and we used our hands to gently grant ourselves release. I swallowed his cries in my mouth while my hand milked him to completion. No longer did I think of our discharge as something to be cleaned away immediately but rather as a precious gift to be savored.

We fell asleep in each other's arms, my homecoming complete.

********  
Epilogue:

It was almost a month later when I suggested that we dine at Simpson's to celebrate the successful completion of yet another case. John agreed readily and I made reservations that afternoon, after ascertaining there would be a string quartet playing that evening. While speaking with the musicians, I mentioned the sonata I'd heard in Paris. I'd received copies of my composition from the music publisher via cousin Verner and I happened to have them with me.

The Manning Quartet was know for their playing of new works and they greeted the new sonata with great interest. I left a copy for them and as I departed, I heard them begin the opening notes. It was all I could do to keep from smiling at the thought of hearing it played tonight while Watson listened unsuspectingly.

He met me at the restaurant, having sent word he would be late because of a new patient. He'd had no time to change so I hadn't either. We looked rather shabby next to the people in formal dinner wear but he was too hungry to really care and I never have paid much attention to fashion.

The food was excellent as always and our wine, superb. Relaxing with brandy, I encouraged him to tell me about his day and the new patient who'd claimed his attention. Rolling his eyes, he spoke of the rather fussy hypochondriac who'd wasted his time with meandering complaints that ranged from head pain all the way down to his gouty toe.

The quartet began to play while he was talking and I waited nervously for them to get to the sonata. He fell silent while he savored the last of his brandy, his eyes questioning my sudden nervous tapping on the table top. When the familiar strains lilted across the room, his head turned to watch the players.

Seated as we were, in the corner booth, only a small space separated us and I felt his hand touch mine beneath the table cloth when he realized what he was hearing. Clasping it, I daringly ignored the public place and tried to listen to the sweeping notes as if I didn't know for whom it was written. When the last note died away, the silence lasted for a brief space before conversation broke out again.

A complement, really. Very few diners really listened to the music played so painstakingly for their enjoyment. Watson's eyes shimmered with unexpected tears and he squeezed my hand once before letting go and picking up his brandy glass.

"Just a little something, Holmes? I seem to recognize some of the melody." He paraphrased my own words back to me. "What is it called?"

"Sonata for Two Lovers by H. Sigerson. It's the latest song in from Paris." My words were nonchalant but my tone spoke of my uncertain reception.

"Ah, yes. The Norwegian explorer. A man of many talents. He must love someone very much to write such a beautiful song." His voice was low and rather husky.

I had to clear my throat and I nodded. "Yes, I think he must."

"We must get copies of the work so you can play it for me again sometime." He signaled the waiter for the check and sent me a burning look of sultry love before hooding his gaze with his public facade.

"I already have it, Watson. It is, of course, a duet." I settled the check and left a good tip for the attentive waiter who brought our coats to us and smilingly called a hansom cab for our journey. "Meant to be played by two."

"Oh, it shall be, Holmes." He promised and held the door to the cab for me. Under his breath, he whispered. "I shall have to find some way to show my appreciation."

We held hands the entire way home and I wondered what kind of a 'thank you' he had in store for me. Whatever it was, I would enjoy it. I was quite sure.

***********************


	5. Christmas - Past and Present

************* Sherlock *************

It was the scents which finally penetrated through my concentration on the damnable case of the watchman's truncheon as I'm sure Watson will call the tale when he writes it up for his not-so-patiently waiting public. Everywhere I went, the scents of pine and bayberry wafted through the air. When I finished my interrogation of the last suspect on my list, I headed back to Baker Street to put on my thinking cap and smoke a pipe or two.

All the facts were there, I just needed to sort them out and decide on the actions that would bring the scoundrel to justice. When I entered the front hall, there were the same smells I'd been sniffing all week, along with the heady smell of cookies in the oven. Finally, the new decorations along the stair railings caught my eye. The gleaming oak was entwined with garlands of pine and knots of holly berries.

Ah yes, Christmas. It was not a holiday which held any good memories for me so I'd once again managed to filter out all the clues that would have reminded me of the festival. It was December 21st and there were four days left to catch a villain. I knew from long experience how addlepated the populace became on the 25th and nothing could be done until everyone had sobered up.

Sighing, I unbuttoned my coat and unwound my scarf. Mrs. Hudson came out from the back hall and took my outer garments with a tsk-ing sound when the snow was shaken to the floor mat. "Mr. Holmes. You're just in time for tea. Dr. Watson came in a good half hour ago and told me to wait until you came home. Kathleen will bring it up as soon as the water boils."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that would be just right. Have you by any chance thought about the cookies for the Irregulars?" That was part of the holiday tradition I'd just remembered.

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Ten dozen are cooling as we speak and they'll be ready for you to take to Professor Jenkins tomorrow." She hung up my outerwear in the closet under the stairs and bustled back to the kitchen.

I slowly mounted the stairs and pondered what else I'd allowed to slip my mind. Gifts. For various and sundry people in my life. I am very bad at choosing appropriate presents for those with whom I share my life. A bottle of port for Mycroft. Some lace for Mrs. Hudson. Shillings for the Irregulars. A box of cigars for Lestrade. These were the same each year. Reaching the door to our sitting room, I sighed. But what for Watson?

He'd given me the most precious gift of all this year. His love. And he gave it continuously and generously every moment of the day. There was nothing I could gift to him that could even begin to compare. I created a smile and opened the door to see his familiar figure reading the paper in his chair by the fire.

"Welcome home, Holmes. Come in out of the cold and warm up in comfort." Rising, he threw aside the paper and held out his hands.

Shutting the door, I made haste to join him. His lips are so soft and yielding beneath mine. Each kiss is a new adventure in taste and feel. 

"Ah, you had a glass of sherry this afternoon and some of that anise candy you love." I said somewhat breathlessly when he released me. This was a game we'd begun one afternoon when he'd returned from his club and an afternoon of playing snooker. Their port is quite distinctive.

"Quite right. And now I'm looking forward to my tea. Dare I hope you ate something today?" He helped me off with my jacket and handed me my dressing gown which he'd had warming by the hearth. He is past master at taking care of me.

"Afraid not. Tea will be most welcome. I must retreat to think afterwards. The threads are complete and I need to see what sort of solution they will weave." I settled down in my chair and watched his face fall before he smiled in resignation. I continually disappoint him with my requests for solitude when he was no doubt looking forward to our spending the evening together.

"I understand, Holmes. The watchman case, is it?" He patted my shoulder and took his own chair after pulling up the tea table and opening the door for Kathleen. He poured for both of us and I watched him while racking my brains for an idea for a Christmas gift for him. Surely, this year I could think of something which would please him. Now, that I'd decided to make use of my inheritance, I was not constrained by lack of money as in previous years.

But that brought back very bad memories indeed and I shifted in my chair while slamming the door on my childhood thoughts. They would not help and would only cast me into a deeper depression than that which stalked me at this moment. I was determined to be cheerful for Watson. He so enjoys these holidays.

"Is anything wrong, Holmes?" His worried tones alerted me to the fact he knows me too well. A bit of misdirection would not come amiss.

"I'd quite forgotten the time of year, Watson. Now, I must think of something to get for Mrs. Hudson and my brother." I quirked an eyebrow in his direction and watched him take the bait.

"I found quite a beautiful set of hand painted tea cups at Harrod's she would enjoy. Violets tastefully enameled on six porcelain cups and saucers. They were a little too expensive for me but if we were to go in together, the cost would be just right." Watson beamed across the table.

"Well done, my dear fellow. Dirksen's will know what Mycroft has been drinking lately so I can just send a bottle to him at the Diogenes Club. While I'm delivering the cookies to Jenkins for the Irregulars along with their shillings, I'll stop in at the tobacco shop and have them send over a box of cigars to Lestrade." I smiled back and nibbled at one of the cookies Mrs. Hudson had just baked. It was still warm and the sugar sprinkles cascaded down my dressing gown. Quite messy but good for all of that.

Watson chuckled and caught his sprinkles in his tea cup. He's always such a neat eater even when it comes to finger foods. It must come from being a doctor. My mind was already straying to the case I'd been investigating and he poured me more tea before retreating to his paper. 

I got up and filled my pipe from the slipper on the mantle, making a mental note to replenish my own supply of tobacco, lest I run out. Lighting up, I began the leisurely pacing that helps me to think through the myriad of problems that must be addressed before I present the solution to the problem of the watchman. Two hours later, Watson kissed me goodnight and went up the stairs to his room.

Watching him go, I sighed quietly and brought my mind back to the problem at hand. Only the discipline of years enabled me to push aside the thoughts of lying with him under the covers whilst we make love. Never has it been so hard to let go of my pleasure for the greater good. John is undoing all the hard work my parents put into making sure I was seen occasionally and never heard.

I shut off those thoughts as well and continued in thinking through the case until about two in the morning, when the solution presented itself. Another hour of testing it from every angle of which I could think and I laid my pipe aside and headed for my cold and lonely bed. Slipping between the sheets, I fell quickly asleep between wishing for the heat of John's body and being glad he, at least, had had an uninterrupted night.

*****

"Sherlock. Please wake up. Please, my friend." The urgent whisper reached the part of my brain that told me it was Watson and he appeared to be in some distress.

"Yes, John. What is it?" I shook my head and sought the clock above the mantle. Not quite five o'clock.

"You were having a nightmare. Thrashing about and calling out something I couldn't quite understand. You sounded quite distressed." He lifted the covers and joined me on the bed, untwisting my nightshirt and pulling me into his warm embrace.

"I remember nothing of a dream, John." Searching my memory, bits and pieces flashed back to me. A dark room. A door that slowly opened with no sound at all. And fear. Overwhelming fear that paralyzed me. I must have shivered because John immediately pulled me in closer.

"What have you remembered, Sherlock?" He soothed his hands over my back in long calming strokes.

"A childish memory. Nothing more. I fear there may be something in what you say about the effects of tobacco late at night." I held him tightly. Always he has been my shield against the darkness which would claim me for its own.

"I see." He pulled back enough to look into my eyes in the flickering light of the candle he must have brought with him. "You know that I will never let anything harm you, my dearest friend. I hate to see the pain you hide inside. Can you not trust me with some of it?"

Mute with sudden despair, I just looked at him.

Perhaps he saw I was truly unable to answer him for he sighed and smiled reassuringly at me. "When you are ready, Sherlock, I will be right here."

Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I coughed once and whispered to him. "I trust you with my life, John. And . . . with my heart. But some of my memories would only hurt you. I could not bear that."

"Oh, my love. I adore you. You are my heart and soul. Your beauty shines on me like the June sun." Each foolish endearment was followed by a soft kiss which lulled me back to a dreamless sleep where nothing could harm me since my beloved guarded me from all bad memories.

*****

Working with Scotland Yard can be a bit of an exercise in futility at times but I persevered and soon had events lined up for the taking of the watchman before he could kill again. Patience is indeed a virtue when it comes to dealing with the bureaucratic mind. There is some hope though. When I see some of the new breed of policeman coming up through the ranks who listen and apply reasoning to their investigations, I foresee a day when I will not be needed.

I hide a smile behind my hand while I listen to Lestrade passing on some of my suggestions to his subordinates as if they were collaborations between us. But that day is not yet come and I don't look for it anytime soon. My mind drifts away to the urgent problem of a gift for Watson. Christmas Eve is tomorrow and I have still not found an adequate present.

Oh, I have a brand new leather doctor's bag, outfitted with a complete assortment of the tools of his trade and his initials tastefully embroidered on the inside silk lining. A bottle of his favorite sherry laid carefully away. A new pen, heavy and substantial, with matching malachite inkwell for when he's in the throes of composing one of his lurid tales.

But those are just things and can not convey my deep gratitude for the love he has introduced into my life. Perhaps, a trip to the southern coast of France? Or one to Greece to tour the ruins of that ancient country? He is fascinated by past medical practices while dedicated to improving his patient's care in the present. Perhaps he would enjoy touring the land that brought us Galen and the god of healing, Asclepius.

"I say, Holmes. Did you have anything you wished to add before I sent out the men?" Lestrade's voice penetrated my musings and I leaned forward with an alert look.

"I believe you have covered all the salient points, Lestrade. If I might however add a note of caution. Sellers has proved he has a native cunning that has worked in his favor before. He thinks quickly and does not always react as you might expect." My gaze meets each pair of eyes around the table in turn. "Be careful he does not add one of you to his list of victims."

"All highly trained men here, Holmes. Mr. Sellers doesn't stand a chance against this force." Lestrade spoke proudly and I nodded, acknowledging his belief but determined to be in at the kill anyway. I had put myself into Sellers' mind in order to catch him and it was not a mind Lestrade or these policemen would understand.

We left immediately to set the plan into action. It was quite simple really, I've found the more complex the plan, the more chance it will go wrong. Especially, when more than one person is involved. I waited in Fishermen’s Alley with one of the members of Lestrade's team. Constable Allen had the fresh-faced look of a farm boy and appeared to be no more than two and twenty.

I mused on the fact that as I aged, everyone appeared to be getting younger around me. The constable had a quiet demeanor and his eyes moved constantly, checking the movements of the denizens of the alley and watching for anomalies, much as I was doing. My spirits rose when I considered his quiet competence and what they heralded for Scotland Yard.

When the action began, it started and ended so quickly the main group of constables never even saw it happen. Constable Allen touched my arm when he spotted Sellers begin his stalking of his next victim and I gestured for him to go one way while I went the other. The hunter thus became the hunted and we were able to subdue him before he could take another life.

While the constable blew his whistle and put the handcuffs on the prone Sellers, I straightened and winced. He'd had a moment to wield his truncheon and I'd taken the full force of the blow to my upper left arm. Flexing my muscles, I decided it wasn't broken but was probably bruised rather severely. Smiling down at the cursing man, I decided the price was well worth the satisfaction of another puzzle solved.

"Are you all right, Mr. Holmes? It appeared he hit you while we were struggling." The constable looked quite anxious and I hastened to reassure him.

"Just a tap, Constable Allen. It was your quick work that subdued him so competently. Good work, young man. I see a very bright future for you in the Yard." My praise made him blush but his eyes shone with gratitude and he bobbed his head in acknowledgement of my praise just as Lestrade strode around the corner from where he'd been waiting with the second team.

The next hour was spent in the inevitable paperwork without which the world could not run. I was able to bow out quietly once I made sure that the wording on the charges was quite correct. My study of law has been a great help to me when it comes to making sure the villains I pursue don't later get off on some legal technicality. My arm was aching quite abominably by this time and I called up a hansom cab to take me home. In the privacy of the cab, I was able to cradle it against my body but every pothole we hit jarred it further.

It rather felt as if it were on fire by the time I got to 221B and I had to drop my coat off of the left shoulder because of the numbness in the afflicted limb. Shaking my head in disgust at my stupidity, I trudged up the steps, thinking longingly of a hot soak in the tub. But it would take an hour or more to get the water heated and Mrs. Hudson and her little staff were busy with holiday preparations. A simple poultice would have to suffice.

But when I opened the door to our sitting room, I was surprised to find Watson already there. He greeted me with a smile which quickly turned to a frown when he saw how I was cradling my arm.

"Holmes! What has happened?" He drew close and closed the door behind me.

"A little altercation when we took Sellers. Just a blow to my arm. A bruise is all." I tried to downplay the pain but I could tell from the look on Watson's face that he saw right through my pretense.

"When you get your medical degree, Sherlock, I will let you diagnose. But until then, why don't you let me take a look at it?" He was steering me to my bedroom and I went quietly. There is never the slightest use in fighting his healing instincts.

He undid the buttons on my vest quickly and neatly, stripping it from me with deft movements. I had my shirt unbuttoned and he eased it off with a small hiss when he saw my upper arm. Even I was rather taken aback when I saw the extent of the bruising. Already a deep shade of blue and black that stretched from just above my elbow in a long band to three inches below my shoulder.

"You're quite lucky he didn't break the bone." Watson's face was fiercely intent while he ran gentle fingers over the skin next to the bruised area. It was all I could do to keep from flinching and he must have felt me tense. "I expect it hurts quite badly, Holmes. You have no need to be stoic with me. Tell me where the pain is worst."

He probed tenderly and I grimaced when the pain sharpened. "Just there, Watson. It was probably the place where the truncheon landed before young Constable Allen had a chance to subdue the villain."

"You can tell me about it, Holmes, in just a few moments. I must just call down to Mrs. Hudson to bring up some hot water." He ran a gentle finger down my cheek before leaving me by the fire to call down from the top of the stairs. A moment later, I could hear him rummaging through the cabinet where he keeps his supplies in the sitting room.

When he returned, he bore a jar of dried herbs and some of his white cotton bandages. Setting them aside, he went back out to the sitting room and reassured Mrs. Hudson before sending her back downstairs to make tea. I watched him in silence while he deftly sprinkled a thick layer of the roots and leaves onto a bandage before folding it in thirds and soaking it in the basin of steaming water. Leaving it for a moment, he got my empty basin and poured in a little of the cold water from my dresser.

Bringing it back to where I sat in the slipper chair by the fire, he removed the steaming bandage and dipped it briefly in the cooler water before wrapping it around my upper arm. The sensation of heat was intense and I barely held back a gasp before feeling the soothing warmth spread throughout my arm. The tingles in my lower arm eased and I was able to flex my fingers without immediate pain.

"Better, Holmes?" He was tying off the ends so the pad pressed tightly but not uncomfortably against the bruise.

"You always make it better, John." I returned his fond look with one of my own and enjoyed the brief kiss he bestowed upon me.

"Now, tell me all about it. How did you come to be in at the kill? I thought your role was just to advise Lestrade's men." He settled on the hearth and looked up expectantly.

So, I settled back against the velvet back of the slipper chair and told him of the events and deductions that led up to the constable and myself bringing Sellers down in the back alley. I could see his writer's mind mulling over the events and the frown when I got to the blow.

"Really, it was quite unexpected, Watson. It never occurred to me that we would come to blows."

"And yet you warned Lestrade's men about being careful of Sellers." He pointed out. "I must thank your constable when I meet him."

"Quite an intelligent young man. He gives me hope for future of the police force. Since you could not be there, he made a more than adequate replacement." I was still caught up in the memory of the events and so did not notice Watson's silence until I looked over and caught his pensive look. "What?"

"So, this young man could replace me, Holmes? Just how attractive was he?"

I stared at him in consternation. *He could not think . . . He could not be making the allegation . . .* I couldn't seem to finish any of my thoughts.

"When I think about how attractive you are, Sherlock, I can not help but wonder when you will decide to turn to a younger, more intelligent partner. I know my slowness in understanding often frustrates you."

I heard the words but they made no sense at all. He was the beautiful one who attracted men and women with his sweetness and gentle manners. No one but he had ever looked at me with the eyes of a lover and I knew not what to say to erase that sad look in his eyes.

"John." There, I'd managed his name and something in my eyes must have gotten through his introspection for he took my cold hand in his and held on tightly. "You must not ever doubt my love for you. Without you I would be the cold, dry husk of a man who met you so many years ago. I live each day in fear you will leave me because of my short temper or my egotistical need to always be right."

"Never, Sherlock. I will never leave you." His answer was immediate and vehement. "You are just in the full bloom of your manhood and intellect. I have my own fears, I guess about my ability to keep up with you."

"You keep me sane, John. You remind me that I am human. Not just a brain but also a man with wants and desires I've never been able to express before. It was so cold in my world before you brought your light and warmth into it. I take so much from you and give nothing in return."

"Not so, my love." He kissed the palm of my hand and the tingle that shot up my arm had nothing to do with pain. "You trust me to lead you down an unknown path to an intimacy which clearly disconcerts you but you let me take you there anyway. Sometimes, I'm afraid I will fail you and you will turn away from it and me."

"Never." My brain failed to find the words I needed to reassure him but my body knew the right answer. I raised his hand to my lips and kissed the pulse in his wrist before bringing it to lay on my chest over my heart. We just looked at each other in the silence of the room and I felt more peaceful than at any time before.

We heard the clatter of the tea tray in the outer room and Watson went out to deal with it, closing the door gently behind him. I leaned my head back and thought about the last few moments. How could a simple statement of fact lead to such terrible conclusions? I thought I was the only one with fears in this relationship but John had just pointed out how alike we were when it came to hiding our feelings.

I must find the words to tell him of my life up to the moment we met. It is only right he should know the childhood events which shaped the misanthropic man to whom Stamford introduced him. My greatest fear had been that they would push him away but now I could see it was my silence which threatened our relationship. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all, I told myself.

The rest of the day was spent quietly with John diligently changing the poultice every hour with fresh herbs and hot water. I went to bed early and he cushioned my arm with a pillow so I would not accidentally roll over onto it. Kissing me gently, he held my hand and hummed me to sleep before leaving for his own bed.

Christmas Eve dawned cloudy and cold. I could smell snow in the air and while my arm ached, the pain was quite gone. John left to make his rounds in the hopes an ounce of prevention would keep him from being called out the next day. I waved him off with a sigh of relief. I had still to wrap his presents and while I did that, I brooded over what I was going to tell him.

Tonight.

I would give him the gift of my memories and pray they did not send him in disgust away from me. A linear rendition of my early years? Or a brief synopsis and let him question what he would? I fretted over my inner debate until I felt quite worn out. Mrs. Hudson tempted me with a savory mid-day meal but I had no appetite and I could hear her mutters all the way down the stairs.

If my arm had not ached so much, I might have found solace in my violin but I could not hold it for more than a moment before the pain began. Huddling in my dressing gown before the fire, I pondered my life and the fantastic turns it had lately taken. I had never expected love and had not believed in it when it first arrived. But now I was desperate not to lose the warmth John brought to my life. I no longer had any wish to return to the days before him.

My mind could not rest so I resorted to a technique the old hermit in Tibet had taught me. Sitting cross-legged on the hearth and focusing on the flames, I calmed my mind and entered a meditative state which took me out of time to a place of safety and quiet. And there I stayed until I heard the noise of Kathleen and her ascent of the stairs with the makings of high tea.

I slowly uncurled and raised myself to the chair where I would not disconcert her. She was followed closely by Watson and it was good to see his high spirits. He regaled me with the story of his successful delivery of a child to one of his favorite patients. This little girl was a healthy baby after two previous miscarriages and both parents had been ecstatic.

I enjoyed his story, glad there were still children who were wanted and loved. I retained some of my meditative state and felt only a distant sadness for the small child who had stopped asking why mother and father didn't want to see him at a very early age. Watson devoured the sandwiches and cakes that would serve as our dinner on this snowy eve to the holiday in between telling me of his afternoon.

Mrs. Hudson checked on us before leaving for early church services with Kathleen. But Watson sent her on her way with a cheery 'Merry Christmas' and the promise of a late breakfast on the morrow. He locked the door behind her and told me he would return after he changed into something more comfortable. But before he went upstairs, he smilingly suggested that I also get undressed.

That usually meant we would make love later but I wondered if he would still wish to after I'd spoken. Probably, he only wished to be sure of the condition of my arm. So, I undressed and put on my flannel nightshirt and dressing gown. Opening the cedar chest at the foot of my bed, I pulled out a Shetland wool blanket for additional warmth while we talked.

I pulled the settee closer to the fire. For this conversation, I wanted to be as close as possible to John. Pushing a pillow to my back, I curled my legs to one side and huddled under the blanket, suddenly cold. John joined me with a worried look. 

"Are you all right, Sherlock? You haven't caught a chill, have you?" He sat down and drew me into his arms. I spread the blanket over us both and slid my good arm around him.

"It is winter, John and sometimes I feel the cold. But not when you are with me." I laid my cheek on his shoulder and breathed in the scent that had come to mean home to me.

"You're not still worrying about our misunderstanding yesterday?" He cuddled me close and stroked my hair with his free hand.

"That was my fault. Hush, now." I stilled his automatic protest with a finger to his lips which he promptly sucked into his mouth and laved with his warm tongue. "Oh."

I shivered and lost my train of thought for a moment but he seemed to sense I needed no distractions and finally let it slip free. I searched for the words which would explain to him just what I was feeling but they proved elusive. Sighing, I focused on the fire and let my mind go free.

"It was my fault because I have never shared with you exactly why you found me a physical and emotional virgin, John. You spoke today of the joy your patient had in the birth of her child. My parents had no such joy in me. Mycroft was wanted in the sense that Father needed a son to carry on the name and the heritage but I . . . was a mistake. An afterthought, conceived in a night of drunkenness on my father's part and then born from my mother's pain and suffering."

"I was a frail child and was often told while small that the doctor had held out little hope of my survival. But the nanny chosen to care for me was a countrywoman of great common sense and she nursed me through the childhood illnesses that plagued me. I was almost two years old before I saw my mother or father."

John's horrified gasp interrupted me and the tears in his eyes gave me pause but he smiled tremulously and nodded for me to go on.

"Nanny Wallace dressed me up and carried me down to the first floor of the house. I can still remember how curious it looked to my wondering eyes. I'd only ever seen the third floor nursery and some of those rooms. Well, them and the back stairs that led to the kitchen gardens where I often played in the sun while Nanny had a gossip with the cook."

The memories came so quickly now and I felt the cold creeping from the inside out. "She set me down and straightened my collar before taking my hand and knocking on the great oak door. I can still remember my first sight of the study. Books climbed the walls on all sides, their shiny leather bindings dazzling in every color of the rainbow. A very tall man sat behind a huge desk and he looked up, a frown on his face when he saw us. He looked so piercingly at me, I remember thinking I must have a spot on my jacket. He quizzed Nanny about me as if I wasn't there then frowned again at her answers before dismissing us with a wave of his hand. It was two more years before I saw him again."

"And what of your mother, Sherlock? Surely she visited the nursery." Watson rubbed my back with soothing strokes meant to comfort.

The cold intensified into an icicle inside of me. "Shortly after I was introduced to my father, I was summoned to my mother's bedside. She remained a semi-invalid after my birth. Something had gone wrong, I was told years later. She had beautiful pale skin and dark hair that fell about her face in soft ringlets. Her eyes were the same color that I see every morning in the shaving mirror. She just looked at me with no expression at all. When Nanny asked if she had any questions for me, she shook her head and said, 'I just wanted to see the cause of my ill health. I don't suppose he's as weak as he looks?' Nanny held my hand very hard and said I was a bonny wee lad and smart as a whip."

"My mother nodded and looked right at me, 'Keep him away from me and I'll not interfere with you. Do we understand each other, Nanny Wallace?' Nanny nodded and took me out of Mother's boudoir. I never went back there. Although once Nanny was sent away and I was given a tutor, I did occasionally visit the study to get a book." My voice died away and I sighed. 

"What of Mycroft, Sherlock? Did you ever see him?" Watson's voice was choked and when I looked up, I surprised a tear on his cheek.

"He was away at school when I was born and only returned at the holidays. I remember him as a very kind boy who always visited me and sometimes brought me a present of candy. And once a red top with which I played until my tutor took it away from me. He didn't believe in toys." The red top spinning across the nursery floor was etched deep in my childhood memories. "I looked up to him and he never let me down. Not once. But our age difference was too great and I didn't know how to talk to him about why our parents didn't love me."

"My God, Sherlock, I can't even imagine a mother and father who wouldn't be proud of such a son as you. Did it ever get better?" 

"No. I continued a disappointment to them all through my school years. Thank god for school. After the first year, I was told I was to stay there year round, even during school holidays. A relief on both our parts. Mycroft visited me at least once a year and took me out for dinner to quiz me about my studies. He always left me a little pocket money which I am sure came out of his own allowance. My fees were paid but that was all. It was only at my parents death that I discovered we were not poor nobility trying to keep up appearances. All those years, I tried so hard not to be a burden on them. I tutored some of the slower students and picked up odd jobs during the holidays when I grew older."

Watson drew a shuddering breath and I surprised more tears on his cheeks. Wiping them away with my thumb, I shook my head. "I was so unlovable, John that they even named me in their will as 'their disappointing son, Sherlock'. I thought I'd grown beyond their ability to hurt me but that stung. I was determined to make my way on my own from that point on. And I haven't done too badly." 

I tried for a small smile but failed. Watson merely pulled me closer to him and cleared his throat. "You are not unlovable, Sherlock. Because *I* love you with all my heart. And Mycroft in his own way loves you as well. You have been and will always be worthy of love. I told you once that if I had to tell you, I love you, everyday for the rest of our lives, I would never tire of it. Or of you."

"For so many years, I would have disputed your statement, John. But you brightened my world with your warmth and your humor. You shone your sunlight into my dark prison and slowly I began to believe even I might find love. But then I ran away because I feared you and the love you brought."

"Never run from my love, dear heart." He spoke against my temple. "It would kill me to lose you now. If I am the sun, then you are the earth around which I revolve."

"That's very bad science, John but very poetic." I managed a small smile. "I love you too. You must know that and remember it when I am bad tempered and out of sorts. I simply have had no practice at showing my love to another."

"And it's why you so often look surprised when I show you affection." He mused gently.

Blushing, I hid my face in his shoulder. It's true, I am often surprised when he strokes me lovingly or pays me a compliment. And why I am often at a loss as to what my action should be in return. "You are an excellent instructor, John. By paying close attention to what you do and say, I then can initiate a response. Spontaneity in emotions has never been my strong suit."

"In another twenty years, if the good Lord grants us that long, you will be an old hand at it, Sherlock. You know what is said about practice!" He smiled down at me before the pensive look came back onto his face. "Why now, my love? Why share this with me on Christmas Eve?"

"I had no gift good enough for you, John." I could barely get the words around the lump in my throat. "I wanted to give you something on one else has ever received from me. You have my heart already. I thought if you could understand my past, you would forgive my ineptness at loving."

"You are *not* inept." He sat up very straight and hugged me tightly, forgetting about my sore arm completely. "I never want to hear you say that again. What you have given me is the gift of your love, a priceless present of yourself. Sharing your past was hard and the fact you wanted to share it with *me*, makes me feel very humble. I do understand why you react the way you do sometimes and I shall say one thing about what you have told me then we need never talk about it again unless you wish."

He stopped and kissed me gently, parting my lips with his spicy tongue and stroking mine with tender fervor. I was helpless at his caress and could only moan when he pulled away. "Some parents should never have children but even though they were grossly inadequate, I am still very glad they didn't stop at Mycroft. I can not imagine a world without Sherlock Holmes in it. And for that they have my undying thanks. But I thank God for Nanny Wallace and your brother for keeping you alive and sane through a truly terrible childhood. Had your early years been different, you might have led a very different life and I am selfish enough to admit I can not bear the thought we might never have met or loved."

It was a new thought for me. I wondered what my life might have been like had I not chosen the eclectic studies that led to my love of detecting. Perhaps, I would be married with children of my own, going to a job each day and spending my weekends gardening or playing bridge. What a horrible thought! I shuddered and listened to Watson's laughter ring out in the still air.

"You are thinking about what an average life might be, aren't you, my love? A daily job in an office, perhaps. A trip to your club once a week. Perhaps a wife and children. Very ordinary and boring to a man of your temperament."

"Quite true. Much better to have an unhappy childhood and be a consulting detective with a beautiful doctor to make love to me." I ventured to tease him and he laughed out loud again. The ability to make him laugh is one I cherish. He told me once laughter can heal and he has been proven right once again. Most of the pain was gone, now I had purged myself of the helpless despair of those early memories.

"Feel better now, dear heart?" Watson's wise eyes gazed down on me and I nodded. "Then let me take you to bed and show you just how much your very special gift means to me."

"Always, John. You take all the pain and soothe it away. I love you with all my heart." 

"Oh, my love," was all he said, catching me up into a hard hug and leading me to my bedroom. "I have a very special Christmas gift of my own to share with you tonight. Perhaps, you would care to help me unwrap it?" 

His mischievous grin and the slight pull on my robe sash told me what he wanted me to unwrap and I began the task of slowly undressing him by the bed where I would soon be shown just how much I was loved. This was one present I could unwrap again and again and never lose the delightful feeling of surprise.

It was going to be a very merry Christmas, indeed.

************************


	6. Ringing Out the Old

********* Sherlock ************

I am quite snug and content here in my bed with the fire still crackling on the hearth. John blankets me with his body and his warmth rivals the flames beneath the mantel. His head is tucked into the hollow of my shoulder and his breath gusts in small almost snores against my skin. I savor his quiet contentment but my mind can not find the rest to which he succumbed after we made love.

I rest my cheek on his silken sable brown hair and breathe in deeply. I am a man who depends on my senses to gather in the data I need to investigate the crimes that are my livelihood. And he is a blessed feast for all my senses. My eyes rejoice at his clean cut beauty and the way his beautiful blue eyes sparkle for me. My nose can always tell when he's near for his fresh scent reminds me that where ever he is, there is my home. My tongue has still not cataloged all the wonderful tastes of his body, especially his mouth with its myriad of spices. My ears hear him even when I'm asleep and listen for his dulcet tones when I'm awake. 

But my fingers love to touch him, all the textures of him from head to toe. Silky hair which coarsens slightly near his groin, satin skin adorned with the sinewy puckers of old scars, the long muscles in his back that flex beneath my hands when he's on top of me, the powerful legs that entwine with mine after we are sated and complete, the strong arms that cradle me so tenderly and the hands that shape my own body into being. And what can I say about the organ that pulses in my hand while we are making love?

My hands and mouth both know it well after these last months. I have mapped it with my tongue while he writhes beneath me, panting out my name like a prayer. I am not fond of the organized religions but I do believe I could worship his shaft in all its states from full to limp. I smile to myself at the whimsical notion and hug him a little tighter, my hands wandering down his back to the gentle swell of his buttocks.

My fingers have a new sensation to ponder today, the first day of the new year and I realize that is why I could not fall immediately to sleep after our lovemaking. Tonight, I buried part of myself in his body. I teased his secret opening with an oiled digit and sank it deep inside of him. I searched for the gland that he had triggered in me and it seems impossible the tiny bump I found could produce his deep moans. His entire body froze before he began to shake as if all of his muscles were in spasm and he came for long moments into my waiting mouth.

He collapsed afterwards, all his strength spent. I tenderly removed my finger, careful not to cause him any pain but he was completely relaxed and never even twitched. After he'd fallen asleep in my arms, I carefully examined my hand but it appeared the same as always except for the oil that coated my fingers. I was still unsure about this particular caress but John had promised that we would go slowly and he would instruct me in the particulars before we attempted any further experiments in loving.

I pull the covers up a little higher and allow all extraneous thoughts to drift away.

***********************

I stretch awake with a little flex of my whole body and open my eyes to a bright blue gaze. John has propped himself on one elbow and is watching me while his right hand strokes my arm. I smile up at him and watch while his lips move to mine in the first kiss of the new year. Of all our kisses, this one tastes most like pure and unadulterated John.

My tongue strokes his with lazy enjoyment while my hands move up and down his spine, tracing each bump of tissue that guards his nervous system. Sometimes I get the oddest pictures in my head of old anatomy text line drawings that match the part of John's body I'm touching. Perhaps my mind is trying to tell me I need to do some further research.

My smiling during our kiss makes Watson pull away and shake his head. "Happy New Year, Sherlock. What odd thought has come to you now?"

I blush but immediately tell him of my notion. He nods. "I agree. There are very good texts which will answer some of your questions. Most of your work in hospital was with dead bodies. I would prefer you do your research with this live body." He takes one of my hands and kisses each finger tenderly before laying it against his breast.

I enjoy touching his nipples and he falls onto his back and brings me up over him in one of our favorite positions. Our shafts nestle together and my legs fall to either side of his. I bathe each of his nipples with a broad swath of my tongue and he shudders beneath me. He brings one of my hands to his mouth and he sucks my two index fingers into his mouth.

He lets the wet digits loose and brings them to his right nipple while my mouth hovers over the left. Understanding, I stimulate both of the peaks beneath fingers and tongue. He arches up with a sigh and our shafts move together in hardening bliss. Then he licks one of his own fingers and I soon feel the new caress between my cheeks. I no longer fear it but am still uncertain. So, I concentrate on John and try not to notice when he penetrates me.

The muscles seem to be getting used to John's touch for they relax with only a token protest. It no longer hurts and the soothing circles John strokes inside of me feel rather good. A good text on the nervous system perhaps, I decide. It seems a disproportionate number of nerve endings exist within the anal canal.

"Holmes, would you move up a bit?" He arches up and I go on to hands and knees, wondering what he has planned for us next. His inventive nature keeps me in a constant state of surprise.

Tugging me further up his body, I find myself straddling his chest with my hands on the wrought iron headboard while his tongue teases my shaft to hardness. One hand pushes back my foreskin and grasps the base of my cock in a firm grip while his fingers return to my cleft. Only this time, he eases two of them inside and I tense at the unaccustomed fullness. But he slowly moves them in and out while his tongue traces small circles around the flaring head of my cock and I can no longer deny him.

Relaxing as best I can, I open my eyes and watch his mouth engulf me almost to the root. Such a wanton sight, his full rosy lips stretched around me, gliding back and forth. Exploring this new position, I flex my legs and move in and out of his moist mouth. I worry his neck muscles will become sore and it is easy for me to take over the movement. He hums and smiles around me, declaring his enjoyment of my understanding moves.

A sudden warmth fills my body and I recognize the flash of fire that radiates out from his inner massage of my gland. It is stronger than before and this time I push back onto his fingers before thrusting gently back into his waiting mouth. I am panting now and trying to keep my cries silent. It would not do to betray our secret but it has also never been so hard to maintain my reserve.

The simultaneous bolts of lightning from below and behind are both threatening to send me over the edge too quickly. When John tongues the small slit free of leaking semen and thrusts his fingers deep, I erupt into nerve-tingling, fire hot release. My hands on the iron uprights are all that keep me from collapsing onto him and I kneel, shaking into small fragments of disconnected body parts.

For long moments, all I can do is feel the quivers slowly subside and parts of my body come back into some semblance of the Sherlock Holmes who'd existed only an hour ago. John is slowly moving beneath me, coaxing my limbs free from their frozen cramp and rolling me to one side. Finally, I let go of the headboard and flexed my hands to try and restore some of the feeling.

"Slide down, Sherlock. Let me hold you." His gentle murmur warms and gives me the strength to slip down into his embrace. He enfolds me with his arms and legs, cocooning me with his love beneath the blankets that smell so strongly of us now.

"Oh, John." I do not know what to say to this amazing man who keeps introducing me to new facets of my body.

"I think you enjoyed that, my love." He kisses me and I share the taste of our love with him. I think I may be growing sweeter tasting.

"You are quite remarkable, John. However do you keep coming up with such new and inventive positions to pleasure me?" I am trying not to blush but it is hard to talk about making love.

"I merely think of what would please me and practice on you. It is very easy to love you, Sherlock. Were two fingers too much for you? You seemed to be enjoying it but you must promise to tell me if I hurt you in any way."

Oh dear, now I was blushing. "You could never hurt me. It felt very full but the warmth that blossomed when you touched my gland was much more intense than before."

"Ah, I was hoping it would be so." John hugged me tighter. "It is another of those acquired tastes and since I enjoy it so much, I was hoping that you might as well."

I felt the old curiosity blossom at his statement. "What does it feel like to you?"

He paused for a moment, his hands stroking my back. "Fullness. Almost a tickle with just one finger, but two creates a most welcome feeling of being filled with you. When you touch the gland, even the merest touch jolts me as if lightning struck. Fire burns through my nerve endings and I want more and more until I am overcome with the tingles and must let go all control."

I have never been so jealous in my life. I can feel a red haze cover my eyes and I must fight not to show it. For I have only inserted one finger in him and his knowledge of two must be a favored memory of his first male lover. Suddenly I need to know what happens when more than fingers are involved.

"John, what does it feel like when . . ." I can't say it out loud and so apologetically touch his genitals to finish my question.

He smiles into my eyes and brings my fingers up for a series of nibbling kisses. "Fullness once again but an extreme fullness that takes long moments to get used to. A penis feels very large inside the anal canal and the penetrator must stop and let his lover get used to the size and bulk in that most private place."

I close my eyes and try to imagine feeling Watson's straight, thick shaft breaching me. Dear heavens, what a loss of control that would involve. His voice calls me back from a shuddering breath. "Sherlock, open your eyes. Open those beautiful gray eyes for me."

I have failed him again with my fears so I must obey and accept my punishment. But his gaze is sweetly open to me and he is shaking his head. "Too much, too soon, my love. We may never reach that point, dear heart. Just remember I have never lied to you and I enjoyed making love that way immensely. Some day, I want you to feel comfortable enough to come inside of me. But until then, we will enjoy what we can. Agreed?"

Nodding, my throat closes in relief that he does not hate me. Even when I disappoint him, he forgives me. No man ever had a better lover than John Watson. Clearing my voice, I manage to speak. "I love you, John. I will try to do better."

For just a moment, I see an old grief in his eyes before he kisses me and murmurs against my lips. "You *always* do your best, Sherlock. You have *never* failed me. In time we will look back on these early days and laugh at our fears. You are not the only one who hesitates. What if I hurt you in my enthusiasm? Or go too fast?"

The reminder was a timely one. We have only been lovers for such a brief time compared to the length of our friendship. "It sometimes seems like yesterday when you first took me to bed. And conversely, a lifetime ago."

"Ah, but you were the brave man who kissed me first." John settled us more comfortably against the pillow.

"It wasn't a very good kiss until you took it over."

"It was the very best kiss I'd ever received in my life." His voice bore such conviction I was startled. "For it told me my dearest wish in the world was coming true. That you and I would be lovers. And we are lovers, even when we can not be together or must play a part for society. Even when I'm not touching you, I am loving you with every fiber of my being."

I had to close my eyes against the sudden ache of tears. It is true, I can feel his love wrap around my cold heart, warming it with his fire and passion. "You bring me such joy, John. I have never felt such emotion and sometimes I do not know what to say or do to show you how I feel. My tongue is glued in place and I am mute."

"I know, sweetheart. It is the same for me when you surprise me with a touch or a loving look. I know it's hard for you but it makes me feel ten feet tall. I want to puff out my chest and strut about the place." His look is rather shamefaced while he confesses his innocent reactions.

I can not help but laugh with delight that it is I who inspire such feelings within him. And when I tell him so, he joins in my laughter. "We are a pair, John. Once I have done my research, I will come back to this form of lovemaking but until then, I promise not to flinch or hold back my reactions from you."

"Good. I will hold you to that, Sherlock." He ran his hands down my back and cupped my buttocks in his strong hands. "But now, we must get up and face a new day or I will surprise Kathleen laying breakfast by coming out of your door looking much too satiated."

I kiss him goodbye reluctantly. Watching him wrap his robe around himself and leave with a blown kiss for luck, I curl around the pillow that still smells of him and wonder for the thousandth time at my great good fortune. But rather than lie and worry about what I do not know, I spring from the bed to get ready for the new day.

Research and I are old friends and it looks as if I will be spending some time in the British Museum Reading Room. First the texts that John has recommended than a look at some of their pornography, I think while I shave in the cold water left on my stand. Some of my cases have been strange indeed and the attendants who retrieve the books have given up trying to understand my odd requests.

Perhaps my strangest case indeed, this research into physical love. But one I am determined to bring to a satisfactory conclusion. It was time to let old fears go and allow the new year to bring me new experiences in loving. The sound of teapot and cups rattling in the sitting room reminds me I am suddenly starving. While I tie my tie, I wonder if anyone has ever studied the effects of lovemaking on the lover's appetite. 

Grinning, I head for breakfast. That was one study I wouldn't mind taking part in myself.

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	7. Bookman's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, there is no such book as The Ring but I'm sure there was *something* in that time period. 

********* Josiah Harbottle ****************

I looked up from the crate of books I was unpacking when the front bell rang. I knew Alfred would see to whichever customer had walked in unless he was one of the specials who knew to ask for me but I'd been bent over for an hour while I carefully lifted out each treasure from the first of the wooden boxes sent from the Duke of Hereford's estate. My bid had been successful and my partner had done the packing up at Hereford and traveled back with the stock.

Poor David was exhausted when he arrived and I'd sent him off to bed while I unpacked. But it was time for a break and I headed for the front to see who'd come in this cold Saturday. Ah, I'd recognize that beak nose anywhere. I do enjoy talking with this one.

"Mr. Holmes, how nice to see you. What esoteric study are you researching now?" He's always up to some form of study on some subject for one of his cases. "Let's see. The last time it was the Crown Jewels, I believe."

He nodded, a faint smile on his face. "Anatomy, Mr. Harbottle. Dr. Watson gave me the name of some anatomy texts for which I am to search."

"Certainly, let me show you the medical section. We have some of the ancient texts as well as the most modern and up to date texts that the students are studying now at the medical schools."

"It is important that they be well illustrated. Words are all very well and good but they can not rival a line drawing from a life model." He had a slip of paper in his hand and immediately scanned the shelves for the titles that Dr. Watson had written down. I recognized the good Doctor's handwriting. 

We had them both but I also selected one of the modern translations of Galen which had just been published by the Oxford University Press for him. It was very well illustrated with a text that even a layman could understand. Destined to become a best seller, if I was any judge. Discriminating readers like to read a subject for themselves. They don't want to have to use a medical dictionary to decipher what they're reading.

He nodded his appreciation and began to speak then changed his mind. I could see he was struggling with something in the stillness of his features and the small tremor in his hand while he pushed back in one of the titles. He may be the famous consulting detective but I'm not bad myself when it comes to the people I serve constantly. He's a very reserved man and some subjects were bound to be harder than others to approach.

So, it must be something personal or a subject on the long list of society's taboos. Hmm-m-m. The way he's leafing through the pages of the Oxford text is seemingly random but . . . did he just hesitate over the male reproductive organ? His color is up a trifle and he's acting very nonchalant about these books. Are they for Dr. Watson or for himself? He didn't say exactly. He just said they were recommended by the doctor.

Satisfied in my own mind that the books were for him, I racked my brain for why he might be embarrassed to ask me for a further subject. He cleared his throat to catch my attention and I quickly abandoned my introspection.

"You may have noticed, Mr. Harbottle, the stories in the newspapers just lately about the rise of kidnapping in the surrounding counties?" He waited for my nod and then continued. "I am interested in an aspect that has so far not gotten much attention in the press. It is believed that some of the young men and women have been kidnapped for the purposes of prostitution." His tones were matter of fact but high on each cheek was a flag of red that signaled his unease with this subject.

"That is an unfortunate side effect of our society, Mr. Holmes." I kept my voice calm and soothing, even though my thoughts flashed instantly to the one case I knew fit his hypothesis. "I know for a fact that sometimes children as young as 12 are gathered in off the streets and rural byways and into dens of unsurpassed inequity."

"Yes." He eyed me speculatively but continued with his request. "My cousin Auguste Verner, the painter, has written me that some of the children are painted whilst engaged in . . . sexual activity. There seems to be a growing market for illustrated pornography in England. He wrote that someone appears to be trying to recreate the Kama Sutra in Victorian dress. Would you happen to have a copy of the original Hindu text?"

Well, who'd have thought it. What a round about way to ask for my collection of pornography. Every bookseller has one, tucked away in the back. Actually, I had quite a good selection at the moment. The Duke had been quite the collector.

"Actually, my collection of erotica has just grown threefold, Mr. Holmes. I actually have several different editions of the Sutra. One has hand painted silk drawings inset between the pages of text. I believe that one is in French. I keep them in the small room by the office. They're a little less likely to walk off that way." My complacent tone of voice had relaxed him a little and he nodded acknowledgement of my little joke. After all, he's the one who tracked down the thief who'd made off with my Shakespeare folio.

He followed me into what I like to call my inner sanctum. It's a small room about eight foot by eight foot just off the office where I do my books and speak with customers privately. Some of them are quite proud and do not wish anyone to know that they are having to sell books from their collections. The sanctum has all the really rare first editions and the erotica. I've put in a nice leather wingback chair and a small table so the buyers have the illusion of intimate privacy while they're perusing the treasures.

I selected two editions of the Kama Sutra and left him to them, shutting the door behind me when I retreated to the office. Sitting down at my oak rolled top desk, I pondered why the famous detective would be, for the very first time in his life, interested in erotica. I'd known him for over twenty years since he first came to London. We were of about the same age and I was working in this very shop for my father who'd passed away ten years ago when young Holmes had wondered in looking for a treatise on poisonous mushrooms.

Holmes had never married and had always seemed to me to be an entirely cerebral creature. I enjoyed his quicksilver mind and his ability to reason through almost any problem. But emotions were a foreign language to him or so I'd always thought. I smiled at the copy of my last book catalog which sat on my desk, someone had awakened the sleeping prince to love. More power to them.

"Josiah! I'm awake at last." Two warm hands slid around my shoulders and soft lips brushed a caress under my ear. I captured the fleet fingers and kissed each palm before straightening up and giving him a warning look.

"We have a customer in the sanctum." I gazed fondly at my partner of the last seventeen years. David will soon see thirty and I found him more beautiful now than when I first found him shivering in the alley behind the shop one cold snowy morning. He was the reason I found child prostitution so repugnant. We've helped many young men over the years escape the streets and some of them had found the bliss that he and I had discovered in each other.

He made a face and smiled at me. Such an open beaming smile that told me he'd missed me while he was gone and that I would be well and truly loved just as soon as he got me back upstairs to our rooms above the shop. I shiver a little when I think about the love that blazes between us and has since the very beginning. Or almost the very beginning. He was thirteen when I found him and sixteen when he seduced me into making love.

My face must have given my thoughts away, I suffered during those years, thinking myself a monster for even entertaining such thoughts about the young man who had endured such abuse before escaping the house of prostitution where he'd been kept since he was twelve. David just smiled and leaned over to kiss me gently before perching on my desk.

"You know, I never regretted that year of servitude because it taught me what I really wanted. Love and respect. Which you always gave me, right from the start. Besides teaching me that little trick with my tongue that always . . ."

I stopped him before he aroused me further. "Imp of Satan. Not in the shop. This day will be long enough without me thinking about your wicked tongue. Get you back to the workroom and finish unpacking those lovely books. When I'm finished here, I'll join you."

He stuck his tongue out at me but hopped off the desk and obeyed my request. Thank goodness today was early closing day. At one o'clock, I could lock the front door and take him to bed. If he was very lucky, I'd let him up by Sunday tea time. If *I* was very lucky, he wouldn't kill me with that talented tongue of his. Ah, but what a way to die. Killed by love.

A noise from the sanctum reminded me of Holmes. *Oh dear, I hope that door was firmly latched.* He appeared in the doorway, holding the French edition of the Sutra. His eyes were slightly dazed but he carried it off quite well. "Mr. Harbottle, I believe that I will take this one and the texts you picked out for now. If further research is called for, I may return. After you catalog the Duke of Hereford's collection, I feel sure that you will have new items for this room."

I nodded and returned his half smile. Of course, our successful bid had been in the Times and I'd told him that the collection had just grown. So he'd put two and two together and come up with four. The pious new Duke was as different from his father, the old reprobate, as night is from day. It stood to reason that the old man would have collected erotica during his wild youth and far flung travels. And that his son would sell them as soon as he could.

"I shall let you know when they are all unpacked. He had quite a wonderful collection of treatises on the flowering shrubs of several continents. As well as a collection of erotica from all over the world. There may be a Sutra or two that you could use for comparison to this new French compilation. Certain editions are quite rare and the owners are known in book collecting circles. Perhaps I could be of some assistance in your investigation?" While I spoke, I was making up the packet of his selected volumes into a nice brown paper bundle, neatly tied with twine.

He paid me with crisp new pound notes, never balking at the price. He'd always been quite parsimonious until six months before and I wondered if he'd come into an inheritance or solved a case for a grateful millionaire. Whatever the reason, he'd helped my balance sheet several months running and I was grateful.

"Dr. Watson is always looking for medical treatises from the middle ages. He will enjoy the edition of Galen. If you come across any others, perhaps you would keep him in mind?" He asked while I showed him back to the front room. I agreed and we shook hands before he left.

Alfred was taking care of the other customer and I retreated to the sanctum to tidy up. The other Kama Sutra had been neatly put back on the shelf from where I'd retrieved it. But my eye was caught by a book that was pushed in further than it had been. Pulling it from the shelf, my eyes widened. Why would Holmes have looked at The Ring? Curiosity at the title or . . .? I caught my breath while my brain put several pieces of the puzzle together.

Dr. Watson. It had to be that Holmes had finally woken to the fact that his long time companion loved him. I caressed the spine of the text that many considered *the* manual for homosexual love. The color in his cheeks could have been chagrin at finding a subject of which the good doctor undoubtedly had a much wider knowledge. Or perhaps embarrassment at his own lack of experience.

"Mr. Harbottle, Dr. Watson's here to see you." Alfred's quiet tones aroused me from my thoughts only to find their subject looking at me quizzically from my office. Serendipity, indeed.

"Come in, Dr. Watson. Pray forgive my inattention. I'm just tidying up after my last customer." I debated whether or not to say something but it is an awkward subject to bring up out of the blue.

The doctor closed the door behind him and sighed. "Holmes was here already, Josiah?"

Ah, interesting. "Yes. He just left a few moments ago with the texts you'd written down."

"And one of your Sutras, I have no doubt." His eyes told me everything I needed to know. They shone happily but a small anxiety lurked within their clear blue depths.

"Yes. The French one has much the better illustrations. He also looked at this." And I handed The Ring to him.

"Dear heavens." He sighed heavily and opened it to flick through the heavy vellum pages with their graphic drawings of male to male love. His eyes came up to mine and I smiled.

"I am very happy for both of you." I kept it simple and watched the blush creep up his cheeks.

He smiled sheepishly and looked back down at the drawings. He has known about David and I since the beginning. He was just starting out when I brought the broken young lad in and he healed him with a gentleness that forever bound me to him. Most doctors would have sneered at treating a male prostitute. Contempt was rampant among the medical profession for the men and women of the street except for the rare few like Dr. Watson who treated everyone with the same respect and dignity.

When we started making love, I asked for his advice with much stammering and stuttering but he treated my questions with quiet dignity and gave me one of the same texts that Holmes had just bought. I had always wondered what his own orientation was but after his marriage, I just put his knowledge down to medical thoroughness on his part. Now, it seems he'd always walked both sides of the sexual line.

"He has many questions. I expect this book came as quite a shock to him." He sighed and handed it back.

I refused it with out-turned palms. "I think that you should take that one home. When he's ready, it will answer most of his questions. The ones it doesn't, you can. Consider it a gift from one who knows what it's like to have questions. Without your aid, all those years ago, I might never have found the one I love more than life itself. You have my permission to speak of us, if you think it would help. Sometimes knowing you are not alone can be most reassuring."

He looked deep into my eyes and slowly nodded, his hands absently caressing the soft leather cover of the manuscript. "Yes, finding the other half of your soul can be rather shattering. But the joy . . ."

We smiled together and all my questions were answered at that moment. The love was mutual and all consuming on both their parts. I wished them all the joy in the world. At least as much as the wonder and contentment that David and I had found. While I wrapped up his gift, I checked the time. Almost one.

I bowed the good doctor out and sent Alfred off with his pay for the week. Locking the door behind me, I pulled down the shades and turned off the gas lights on the main floor. Parting the curtains that led into the workroom, I feasted my eyes on David where he stood, half in and half out of the high sided wooden crate. Crossing the floor quickly, I held his hips still and pulled him tightly to my groin.

"Ooo-oof, Josiah! It must be lunchtime and I think I can guess what you'd like to . . . eat." His laughing tones drifted up from the bowels of the crate and I slid my arms down over his chest and helped him stand upright.

"Something delicious and nourishing to start with," I mused, while my hands smoothed over the thin linen of his shirt, finding and tweaking his nipples.

"Oh, my. Yes." He twisted in my arms and leaned up to kiss me. We were both panting by the time he pulled away and began leading me upstairs to our private rooms. "Then, I'd like something . . .meaty to fill up this empty spot I have inside."

My pulse skipped a beat and I spanked him lightly, one for every step up to our room. He yelped and wriggled his hips at me while casting a sultry look behind him. I sighed happily and spent one last thought for the unlikely lovers who'd visited my shop today.

May they have many years to enjoy each other's love. And may they be as happy as we are right now. Then I cast all other thoughts aside and picked up my laughing love to carry him in for an afternoon of lovemaking.

*******************


	8. Revelations of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a mention of the rape of a child. It is fleeting but could trigger for some. You can skip this chapter if you need to, although it does have some of Josiah and David's back story.

**************************

I sent off my package with one of the Irregulars before setting off on a tour of London. I walked for miles while some of the pictures I'd seen haunted my thoughts. For some blocks, I was able to concentrate on the people around me, then something would remind me of a particular pose and my mind would freeze again and the next few blocks would be a blur. It's a wonder I wasn't assaulted in some of the less savory sections of London I wandered through while I strove for some composure. Heaven knows, I'd have been easy prey. One of the Irregulars could have surprised me at that point.

I had the lowering feeling that I'd surprised Josiah Harbottle with my request and that he'd soon realized what I was really researching. It is a very unsettling feeling to wonder if another knows our secret. Of course, I think Mycroft knows. We've said nothing to each other but he knows me better than anyone, save Watson, and accepting my inheritance would have triggered his mind into searching for the reason. 

His mind is just as trained as mine and in some instances, he is the better thinker. But thankfully, he trains his on England and Her interests while I am content to deal with the individuals that populate her shores. Oh yes, I am sure he knows and accepts, treating Watson no differently than he ever did. I thank the Universe everyday for my wise brother and his 'live and let live' philosophy. In his own way, I do believe he is fond of his little brother.

I'd been walking for almost five hours and could feel the ache deep in my legs. Hailing a hansom cab, I gave him the Baker Street address and settled back to think some more. There had been something in Harbottle's voice when he spoke of young prostitutes that spoke of passionate conviction. I wondered why while I thought about the man whom I considered a friendly acquaintance. He'd been one of the first to offer me good conversation and his knowledge of books had extended my own knowledge a hundred fold.

With a start, I realized that I considered him a friend. Someone with whom I could share a confidence. Perhaps, I could even talk to him of the last book I'd pulled off of the shelf. The Ring. An intriguing title which I'd looked at with curiosity and then with . . . I couldn't think of a word to describe my state of mind when I'd come across the first picture. Fellatio was the caption and I recognized the position quite easily. It is one both John and I have practiced.

The cab stopped and I roused myself with a start, paying the cabby and walking stiffly up the steps to my door. Mrs. Hudson was lying in wait for me and she took my outer garments with much clucking and admonitions to 'go right upstairs and change my shoes'. 

"Tea in half an hour, Mr. Holmes. And put on dry socks as well or you'll catch your death of pneumonia." Her advice followed me up the stairs and I found myself smiling at her well meant mutterings. Between she and Watson, I am well and truly wrapped in care.

The door opened before I could even reach for the handle and Watson was pulling me in and shutting the door behind me. His arms hugged me tightly and his mouth warmed my cold lips with his passion. I warmed my cold hands beneath his velvet smoking jacket, stroking them up and down the muscles in his back while enjoying his spicy kiss. Such homecomings often remind me of just how very lucky I am.

"Holmes, I was worried. When your package arrived but you didn't, I was afraid something had happened to you. Sit down by the fire so I can change your shoes. Your feet must be freezing." He tugged me towards the fire and the basin of water I could see sitting on the hearth.

"I'm sorry, Watson. I didn't mean to worry you but I felt the need to walk. You know how it helps me to think." I allowed him to seat me and watched indulgently while he clucked rather like Mrs. Hudson.

He removed my shoes and socks and briskly rubbed them with a towel before bringing the basin closer so I could soak my feet in the hot water. I hissed a bit as the circulation returned with a vengeance to my admittedly cold extremities. He stood and unbuttoned my jacket and vest, rather like Nanny used to do but I knew better than to remark upon it for fear of hearing the lecture he was always ready to give. The one about taking care of myself and paying attention to the elements.

But this time, when he draped my dressing gown around me, he held me close and pressed a kiss onto the top of my head. "I love you, Sherlock. It was lonely without you. Now you've returned, I do not believe I shall let you out again until next week. Not even for the Queen do you leave these rooms."

"Very well, John. Are you sure you won't be bored?" I daringly teased him while he crossed the room to pour us both a drink. He laughed and siphoned out the whiskey into two glasses.

"Surely not. I think we both have plenty of reading material." He handed me my glass with a very enigmatic look on his face and I remembered the package from Harbottle's. "Both of our packages arrived."

Both? I saw two brown paper packages with identical knots on the side table. The fat one was mine but the slender one must be . . . Watson's?

"I see we both decided to patronize Harbottle's this afternoon." I looked a question at my lover who had settled into his own chair on the other side of the fire.

"Yes. He made me a present of a book that will help answer some of your questions. I consider Josiah to be a friend and of course, I've treated young David since he was thirteen." Watson spoke calmly while my mind raced through the implications of his statement.

"That is one of the things I had to think about this afternoon, Watson. I came to the realization that I, too, consider him a friend. He was one of the first people I met when I came to London. He has a well stocked mind for books and the knowledge that can be found in them. I . . . was introduced to some of the more esoteric books in his rare book room."

"Yes, I know. Oh, he didn't say anything until I did, just mentioned you had come in and bought the anatomy texts. He is very discreet when it comes to his customers. He probably knows as many secrets about his clients as I do about my patients." Watson hastened to reassure me. "I asked him outright if you'd taken home one of the Sutras and he acknowledged your purchase. Then he gave me a copy of The Ring for when you have further questions."

I was quite speechless at his matter of fact statement. I took a large gulp of my whiskey and concentrated on the burn of the alcohol all the way down to my stomach . . . my empty stomach, where it exploded like a fireball. The room immediately went a little fuzzy and I held onto my glass with difficulty.

"Heavens, Holmes, did you eat today at all?" His concerned voice came from near at hand and he removed the glass and felt my pulse with his free hand. "If I have to feed you myself, you *are* eating high tea which I can hear coming now. Stay there, dear heart, and I'll see to everything."

He kissed me quickly and threw the afghan from the settee over my lap before opening the door for Kathleen and the heavily laden tea tray. He pulled the table between us and she lay down the tray. Watson handed her my shoes in trade and she curtsied before leaving us to our tea. A good girl, who'd come to London from the village where Mrs. Hudson had grown up and where her relatives still lived. We'd had a series of such girls who Mrs. Hudson trained for service before they left for another position or a home of their own.

John dragged a footstool over to my side and proceeded to hand feed me some of the scones and triangle sandwiches that Mrs. Hudson makes so well. I discovered my hunger at the third roast beef sandwich and between the two of us, we finished everything on the tray. The China tea was just right after a cold day and after Watson set the tea tray outside the door and locked up, he came back to me and dried each foot gently setting them in his lap after he was done.

Using his healing lotion, he gave each foot a soothing massage that soon had me relaxed completely. Each toe was lovingly rubbed into a rosy hue that satisfied even Watson's exacting standards. He moved the settee closer to the fire and held out his hand for me to join him upon it. I settled between his legs with my back against his chest and pulled the afghan over both of us. His hands crossed over my chest and held me close in contented silence.

The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the quiet room and I could feel the peace surround us. Sighing contentedly, I turned my head a little so I could see his face from my comfortable pillow on his shoulder. He looked a little pensive and I wondered what he was thinking while he watched the flames on the hearth.

He noticed my gaze and feathered a kiss to my temple. "Josiah gave me permission to tell you the story of his and David's lives. You have known Josiah longer than I but it was a cold snowy night when I met David for the first time. Josiah had sent Alfred for me and since my practice was almost nonexistent at that point, I had nothing to stop me from going with him. I was afraid his father's heart was acting up so I followed quickly. But what I found was someone completely different."

He sighed and held me tighter. "Alfred led me upstairs to the rooms where Josiah and his father live above the shop. I found Josiah in the back bedroom where he'd placed the unconscious body of a young boy." He must have felt me start and he answered my unasked question. "Yes, it was David. He'd been regularly beaten over the space of a few months, the scars on his body were sickening and some of them were fresh. He'd been pierced and also burned and his left wrist had just been broken. His skin was blue and he had gone beyond cold to hypothermic."

"I worked on him for several hours and twice I thought I'd lost him. His pulse was almost nonexistent and not even heated bricks and warmed blankets seemed to bring his temperature up. I almost despaired but Josiah never faltered in his belief I would save him. Finally, I had him fill the bathtub with hot water and we submerged him in it. He finally started shivering and after that I was able to bring him back. But not to consciousness. It was almost three days before he came back to himself."

I turned completely in his arms and wrapped him in my embrace while we shifted to our sides on the settee. "It was sixteen years ago but sometimes it seems like yesterday. The cold was succeeded by a fever that ravaged his frail body. He spoke in his delirium, pleading for mercy from men who hurt him over and over. Some of the acts he tried to stop were so vile, I can not repeat them. He was so small and young to have experienced such sexual abuse. His innocence had been lost in a bawdy house in the dregs of Limehouse after his abduction from a country village in Sussex when he was twelve. I do not know how he survived his torture. It seems to have been worse because he has such an angelic appearance."

I nodded against his shoulder and kissed his throat in mute appeal for him to continue, remembering the slender blonde man with the almost white blond hair above pure blue eyes and a face that Michelangelo would have immediately carved into stone. "What happened when he awoke?"

Watson sighed and rested his cheek on my hair. "He was mute while awake. He only spoke in the midst of his nightmares. It was a fortnight before he volunteered his first name to us. He hated to be touched but bore my examinations with fortitude when I had to change his bandages. But he would go rigid with terror when I had to insert the soothing cream into his anal canal. He'd bled quite heavily the first few nights and I'd had to suture two anal fissures. Who ever had raped him must have been very large and very brutal." Watson sighed again.

"Josiah was the only one who could hold him at those moments and he would rock him in his arms and croon lullabies to him while I gently bathed the area with witch hazel and inserted my little finger with the cream over the healing sutures. He never made a sound, just cried silently while Josiah held him. I was afraid that he would hate me for the pain I put him through but by the time a month had gone by, he would smile at me when I visited. He followed Josiah around the shop like a small ghost, disappearing when ever there were customers and returning when they'd left."

He finally smiled at some memory. "Josiah taught him his letters and numbers and set him to helping him with the book-keeping. He learned to tend to the books and became a great favorite with the lady customers with his shy manners and beautiful good looks. The Harbottles put out that he was a cousin, left alone when an accident killed his parents. Within two years he was translating simple Latin and he'd traveled to France with Josiah on a buying trip and come back determined to learn French. He was beginning to grow again with plenty to eat and a regular diet of nourishing food. He's like you that way, able to eat anything and never gain an ounce. By the time he was sixteen, he'd reached his final height of five foot eight inches."

His voice died away and the smile on his lips teased me with the rest of the story. "John, how did he and Josiah come together?"

His bright blue gaze glanced down at me with a mischievous look. "David is a very determined young man. From the moment Josiah plucked him from the alley where he was slowly freezing to death, he felt as if he belonged to him. His devotion was complete and single minded. He soaked up learning like a sponge because he knew Josiah valued knowledge. He tried to make himself indispensable to the running of the shop so he wouldn't be sent away. He told me once that was his greatest fear. That he'd be sent away."

"The Harbottles would never have turned away someone in need." I spoke with complete conviction, remembering several instances when I'd found Josiah nursing a kitten who'd been thrown out with the trash. All strays found good homes if they were lucky enough to meet the bookseller.

"Quite right. But you must remember this fear was rooted in his earlier abandonment by his parents or so he thought when he was taken and told they had sold him as one would sell a horse." Watson's voice rang out passionately in the stillness of the room. "He never would go back to his village or see his parents even after the elder Mr. Harbottle traced them. I think he was terrified he would be made to stay with them and even then his heart was bound to Josiah's. I know Josiah's father worried about their friendship and what he thought was an unhealthy attachment between them but he was of the old school and once he retired to Brighton, I know the atmosphere lightened considerably at the shop."

"But how did they come together?" I felt as if I was four again and Nanny was stringing out a tale to make it more suspenseful. He laughed down into my . . . I'm afraid to say, pouting face and kissed me lingeringly before continuing.

"When David turned sixteen, old Mr. Harbottle retired and left Josiah in charge of the business. With his heart, I feared it would not be long before he passed on but with the sea air and no responsibilities, he lingered on for another three years. Anyway, all seemed to be fine in the shop and the two of them dealt well with the business with faithful Alfred taking care of the shop while they traveled to sales and estate auctions, buying up new stock. I would drop in whenever I could and it was on just such a friendly visit that David took me aside and asked if he could talk to me privately. Of course, I said yes and he suggested my office on the following afternoon. I agreed and he came about two o'clock."

"He plunged straight into why he had come before I had any chance to ask him a question. He wanted to know if I thought two men loving each other was wrong and did it have to hurt as the men at the bawdy house had hurt him. Well, I was somewhat at a loss for what to say and I asked why he needed to know. Blushing furiously, he said that he loved Josiah and he *thought* Josiah loved him but was afraid of hurting him after the abuse he'd taken when younger. Of course, I'd known for some time Josiah did indeed love him with all his heart. And he did fear hurting him but he'd had one brief affair earlier as had I so he at least knew the mechanics of the act."

I was feeling jealous again of the now dead lover who'd held John's heart so long ago. I hid my face against his throat and murmured, knowing he would hear me. "So what did you do?"

"I played matchmaker. I assured David that it did *not* have to hurt and I explained that with love any physical act could be pleasurable. Then I answered all his other questions and asked him to wait until I had a chance to talk with Josiah. I quickly sent him a note and met him for dinner at Richelli's. I asked his intentions towards David and listened for an hour to his hopes for a future with the young man when he'd reached his majority and had a chance to travel and see the world and meet people beyond the small circle of friends in London and on and on until I was ready to sink beneath the table."

I chuckled while thinking that I understood Josiah's point. The young man deserved a chance at meeting others before he settled down for the rest of his life. But I suspected young David had had different ideas. "And then?"

"Well, I had to protect both of their confidences even though I knew they wanted each other. I was at my wit's end about a week later when I got a note from Josiah asking me to dinner at the rooms above the shop. I had a notion that David had taken the initiative and it turned out I was right. David met me with a hug at the door and we had a wonderful dinner while they took turns telling me of David's seduction of Josiah. Thirteen years later and their love is stronger than ever."

I sighed and thought about my own impressions of the pair. Josiah was a familiar fixture in the shop and I depended on his expertise. David was more elusive but now I thought about the times I'd seen them together, I recognized the way they fit together. I had taken it for a familial resemblance but now realized it was their love that I'd seen but not understood.

"Do we give off that same air of being part of each other?" I asked hesitantly.

"We have been together as long but as friends and that is what others see. It has only been six months since you surprised me with a kiss." Watson ran his lips over my forehead and I tilted up to claim a proper kiss which he promptly gave.

I could feel myself melting under his suddenly ravenous mouth. My entire body heated down to my bare toes and I moved as close as I could to him. One hand massaged my neck while the other drifted down to my lower back. Our clothes were in the way and I pulled away panting to see his glowing gaze strip me with a look. I blushed and sat up, holding out a hand to bring him up with me.

We headed for my bedroom, with our arms around each other, neither of us willing to let go of the other. I had the presence of mind to check the fire but the screen was up and it had died down during our conversation so I promptly forgot it and followed Watson into my room.

Stripping off our clothes while our eyes remained locked on each other, we reached the bed at the same time and slid beneath the covers to meet in the middle of the bed. Oh, the feel of his skin against mine is such luxury still. We heated to a too fast climax, our hands holding each others shaft and providing that perfect grip which sped us to an almost simultaneous release.

He chuckled under his breath while bringing his fingers and mine to his lips to lick away our combined seed with an erotic gesture that held me spell bound. "You are truly ambrosia of the gods, my love. Beer or no beer, you grow sweeter every day. And that was disgracefully quick off the mark for two mature men."

I blushed and shook my head. "Each day that you love me seems to remove a day from my age. You are my fountain of youth and eternal spring in one."

He kissed me, sharing our taste with my eager mouth. I pulled him on top of me and cradled him with my body. "I love you more each day although it seems impossible I could. Do you think that in another thirteen years we shall still be so much in love as they are?"

"Yes." He answered simply and raised his head to look into my eyes. "There are soulmates, Sherlock and beyond all barriers of age or class or sex they will find each other as we found ourselves. And as Josiah and David discovered even though David had to live through horror unimaginable to sane men."

I nodded and cuddled him closer, remembering my unhappy childhood and how it had led me to London and my profession and finally to him. Perhaps this theory of souls meeting and melding had merit. I only knew that I would not let him go nor would I spurn his love. And whatever he wished to do with my body, I would allow and if possible enjoy. For I trusted him. As simple and as complex as that was for me, still I knew he loved me and everything would work out for the best.

Because we loved. Tomorrow I would sit down with him and The Ring and together we would explore the possibilities. I have always done best with a blueprint and hands-on research. My hands slip lower onto his back and he sighs against my throat. Drawing the blankets up higher over us, I smile at the thought of what we might discover.

Together.

***************************


	9. The Mystery of the Noise in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loving chastisement.

********** Josiah **************

I awoke with a start and put out a hand for David but his side of the bed was empty and had been for some moments if the cool sheets were any indication. He was probably just in the bathroom, being a restless sleeper and having a very small bladder. Now I was awake, I planned to surprise him in return for the joy he'd given me earlier. I settled back and remembered.

***** Flashback *****

We normally saved our full fledged loving for the weekends when we had the privacy and the leisure to do it right. But he'd pleaded with me after dinner, sitting on my lap and gently kissing me from one ear to the other, with his blue eyes shining and his soft lips skimming my cheeks, nose and mouth like the caress of a butterfly. It had been over two weeks since I'd last taken him and I must admit, it took little persuasion before I sent him into the bathroom to begin the bath while I prepared the solution in the kitchen. 

Watson had given us several options for a full cleansing when we'd first even contemplated the ultimate loving act and tonight I chose a gentle antiseptic solution of witch hazel twigs steeped for several minutes in a small bowl of boiling water. The bag was in the bathroom and I carried the bowl of herbal solution with me into the gently lit room. David had scattered several candles about the bath and they provided a very romantic ambiance.

"How long has the boiler been on?" I asked him while I pinched the tube and poured in the solution before adding cold water from the faucet. I tested it to be sure it wasn't too hot, then added a little more water so we had a full two quarts.

David was slowly stripping off his clothes, teasing me with the unveiling of his beautiful body with its long lean lines of flesh and bone. "I lit it before dinner. I was hoping you'd say yes." 

His impish smile reminded me of why I'd said yes and I began to feel the familiar ache start deep inside of my body. Hanging the bag on the hook near the commode, I began stripping off my own clothes. The gas boiler we'd installed for the bath water was only a few months old and it took a full hour to heat the fifteen gallons of water in the copper tank. It was ugly, but the comfort of being able to bathe every night without having to heat and carry buckets of water was worth the loss of aesthetics.

So, now it would be only a few more moments before we could mix the cold water from the tap with the hot water of the boiler for a perfect bath in our wide deep tub. I finished undressing and held out my arms to draw him close. He rubbed himself against me like one of our cats and I petted him from neck to buttocks with the long strokes he likes. 

"I love you, Josiah. How big and strong you are. How safe you make me feel . . . and wanted . . . and loved." He scattered kisses over my neck and shoulders, making me tremble with the always present need to hold and love him.

"I love you too, David. More each day. Come lay on my lap while I prepare you." I sat on the down-turned lid of the commode, spreading my legs slightly so he had a comfortable perch. He laid himself face down onto my lap and I stroked him again, concentrating on the delectable buttocks that lay across my leg. Teasing his opening with callused fingers, he wriggled a little, rubbing his shaft against the dense hair of my legs.

Reaching up from my comfortable seat, I brought the tube and nozzle down to our level. I inserted a finger first to loosen him and he thrust up to take more of me. "Not now, sweetheart. But soon. Here's the nozzle." I withdrew my finger and slid the rubber tube a few inches inside of him.

"Yes. Now." He tensed a bit and I laid a gentle hand on his lower back with one hand while I unpinched the tube with the other. The herbal solution began to flow into him and he groaned a moment. "It's hot! Oo-oh!"

"Too hot, love? Should I stop?" And I moved to pinch the tube but he stopped me with a firm grip on my lower leg. 

"No. It's all right. It's just a shock sometimes." He sighed and wriggled a little, rubbing his cock against my leg again. He's a sensuous creature and enjoys his body in all aspects. I take his camels hair brush and begin the long strokes that stimulate his skin to a rosy hue. Over his shoulders and down his back, I massage the satin flesh while my other hand moves over, then under him so I can rub his cock against my leg. 

"Yes, Josiah. Oh-h-h, more." He squirmed and bucked a little while he continued to absorb the herbal enema. I knew from experience that he was beginning to feel extremely full and that put pressure on his penis so my stimulation became a loving torment. That and the feeling of being in a very vulnerable position suspended over my lap was a strong erotic turn on for him. And for myself as well.

I watched the bag deflate and saw he had taken it all. Laying aside the brush, I replaced the tube with a well oiled rubber plug to help him keep the solution inside for our bath. The plug was one I'd carved myself from a block of rubber and David said it was his second favorite. The long, thick ivory plug was the one he loved to wear to stretch himself for me after we'd been abstinent for some time.

"Come up now, love. Carefully." I provided him a strong arm and he levered himself up while he reacted to the solution that now filled his bowels. It can be disorienting and I held on to him while we made our way to the white porcelain tub. He turned on the cold water while I released the hot water from the boiler. They mixed together until the water was ten inches from the top and he turned off the cold. The boiler was now empty and I turned off the gas cock.

I got in first and helped him in and down between my legs. Squirming with the contact of the plug against the hard porcelain, he slid all the way under the water and came back up like a sleek seal. The shampoo is right there on the ledge above the tub and I lathered his head in a scalp massage that soon had him purring. After he rinsed, he turned and began to lather my chest. I am rather hirsute and he loves to comb through the curls that cover me from chest to groin. I watched for the first shiver and when it came in conjunction with a rosy flush, I knew he would soon have to get out.

So, I soaped him thoroughly and he rinsed hastily before kneeling up and stepping over the side. He hurried to the commode and pulled the curtain around it. I slipped under the water to wash my own hair and give him the privacy he needs while he voids himself. The curtain is a frail barrier but an important one that keeps our privacy intact. I took my time finishing the rinse and sat back as he came back into the tub. He slid over the side and into my arms with a flurry of kisses.

"All ready for you, love. Need you." Sending a soulful look into my eyes, it was all I could do to slowly wash his privates while I kissed him tenderly. His cock nestled next to mine and his hands quickly brought them both to hardness. Slipping a soapy finger into his loosened opening, I tickled him. He thrust against me and I pushed deeper, searching for the nub that would pleasure him.

Our tongues entwined languidly until I found the gland and he bucked hard and moaned into my mouth. It was time to get out of the tub. Making love in water was never as satisfying as our warm bed. We untangled gently, moved out into the room and dried each other with fluffy towels that had been warming near the boiler. David led me to the bed and crawled ahead of me, wiggling his ass and looking over his shoulder with a sultry look.

***** end flashback *****

It had been over ten minutes. Where could he be? Had dinner disagreed with him? I swung my legs over the side of the old oak bed stead and reached for my robe. A noise from the door heralded his return with the oil lamp from the dining room. He sat it on the dresser and began to remove the heavy velvet robe I'd given him for Christmas.

"What was wrong, David?" I asked.

"I thought I heard a noise from the shop so I went down to investigate." He said it so matter of factly.

"You should have awakened me." I frowned. I do not like to think of him confronting the unknown alone. He is too brave for his own good.

He looked at me affectionately. "It was just a noise, Josiah. I wondered if we'd left one of the cats in the shop. When I unbolted the door at the foot of the stairs, you know how it sticks, I heard another sound." He hesitated and hung up the velvet robe on the hook by the dresser, standing there in his flannel nightshirt suddenly uncertain. "Like a click, very loud in the silence of the shop. Opening the door, I held the lamp up but there was nothing there. I checked the workroom and found the backdoor unlocked. It was shut but the lock wasn't turned."

"What! That's not possible. I locked it when I put out the trash this afternoon. Neither of us went out that way later." I sat back on the edge of the bed and thought about my movements after we closed the shop.

"Perhaps you just thought you had, love. It's such a habit that maybe this time you forgot. You did just turn forty. Maybe it's your age catching up with you." He teased me slyly while he crossed the room to stand between my knees.

"Age? Old am I? Imp, you go too far." I scolded in mock anger. "And you went into what might have been a dangerous situation without me. I fear your behavior may need correction. Did you rebolt the stair door?"

David nodded and shivered before me, his eyes turning the sultry blue of the ocean during a storm. Correction always turns him wanton. "I will check the door and get the instrument of correction. You know what position to take." I headed for the bedroom door and took the lamp with me. The door to the stairs was of course bolted, he values our privacy too much to forget it, and I retreated to the bathroom to get his hairbrush. He loves being chastised with it. 

When I returned to our room, I found him kneeling naked by the armless slipper chair, his fair hair shining like one of Bottecelli's angels in the light of the bed lamp . I'd replaced the other lamp in the dining room and came in with the tool of his correction in my hand. His eyes gleamed in the lamp light and his lips trembled with the need to appear properly contrite. This was a game we had played for many years and still it satisfied.

I removed my nightshirt slowly, throwing the brush on our bed and he watched me, his eyes following every movement and flex of muscle. He has told me over and over that he finds me beautiful but I fear he is the only one who sees me so. But he is the important one so I am content with my stature and bulk.

"How powerful you look in the lamp light. Your skin is bronzed with color and the black curls tempt me to touch and touch and never stop touching." His voice is husky and I can feel my shaft begin to lift towards him, seeking its home within him. "So strong and yet so gentle with me. I am not a weak creature who will break easily. Come and give me my penance."

I sat in the chair and handed him the brush, motioning him across my lap. He assumed the position with mock reluctance, pushing himself against me sensuously and settling over my legs as he had earlier for his cleansing. "Scamp. I see you intend to fully enjoy your spanking." He had inserted the ivory plug and I pushed it in and out briefly , making him squirm and moan.

"Yes-s-s." He shivered and rubbed himself against me, his protests part of the play we acted out in these moments. 

I took the brush from his hand and stroked it over his back and down over the plug to the soft sac that hung between his legs. That brought another moan and he tried to press his legs together but I would not allow it and I spread them with my hands, placing them on either side of the footstool that I wasn't using and commanding him to leave them there. I brought the brush back up and smoothed the bristles over the tender skin between the sac and his well filled puckered muscle. He was shivering continuously now and I knew it was time for the next step.

I flipped the brush over to the flat broad head and began to pepper his buttocks with light slaps that warmed his skin to a rosy flush. He squirmed and pleaded with me to stop, all the while lifting his ass wantonly for the next stroke. Every third spank glanced off the plug and stimulated his inner gland making him moan and hiccup with need. Soon his entire ass and upper thighs were bright red and glowing with the heat. His cries had reached a level I recognized as the point for the next step.

His cock was rock hard between my thighs and I was not far behind. Reversing the brush again, I began to tickle his heated skin with the bristles and he was soon pleading for me to take him and put out the fire. I laid the brush aside and handed him the pot of cream that we used for penetration. He slid off my lap and hastily brushed away a few tears before sitting on my lap facing me with his legs over my thighs.

"Too much, love? Did I hurt you?" I asked, genuinely concerned I had misread his reactions.

"Never!" He kissed me passionately and began to rub my cock with the cream. Finally pulling away, he smiled at me. "You could never hurt me. It was just so intense for a moment, I forgot we were playing."

"I never wish to harm you, David. You are my heart and soul. Hurting you would be hurting myself." I stroked his pale skin soothingly and fingered the plug still snugly seated where I wished to be.

"Take it out, sweetheart and fill me with yourself. I'm on fire and only you can put it out." He kissed me again and I pulled it out with a moist pop of suction that made us both groan.

Holding his cheeks in my hands, I spread them apart and waited for him to guide me home. Still well lubricated from our earlier loving, he rose from my lap and slowly sank down onto my hard staff. Oh, the feel of him enclosing me with his warmth is something I will never get used to. Not if I live to be one hundred will the wonder and joy of loving him ever fade.

"Oh, my." He sighed and wriggled a little closer before beginning the teasing glide up and then down again. The long, lean muscles of his thighs flexed while he rode me with increasing fervor. I thrust up and hit his prostate, feeling him clench around me, but in this position, most of the control is his and after a spanking, that is what he needs.

Playing with my nipples, he tormented the small brown nubs with soft caresses and hard pinches that made me arch towards him, stimulating the inner gland again. Suddenly, the velvet glove sensation was not enough and I surged up from the chair, still holding his cheeks. He yelped and grabbed my shoulders to keep his balance and I began walking across the room to our bed. Each step jolted me deeper within him and he began those panting groans that make me lose all control.

His legs were now tight around my waist, squeezing me in two. By the bed, I tilted him backwards and found him at just the right angle on the edge of the bed, to volley my thrusts against his gland. Bouncing on the bed in time to my movements, he moaned my name over and over. I felt my release begin to fray the nerve endings in my body and when he froze around me with a shout, we both let go and came into each other's keeping.

Slumping to his chest, I tried to get my breath back and still the tremors in my legs but my racing heart refused to slow. Gradually, I heard his voice in my ear calming me while his hands traced soothing patterns up and down my back. We were two again after being one body for such a brief moment. Pulling back, I saw the same regret in his eyes, I know was in mine. Such union is rare and treasured for its joy.

Gingerly, I pulled myself from his depths and he bit his lip at the loss of my possession. I gathered him in my arms and carried him to the kitchen for the cleanup necessitated by our loving. The water in the hob was nicely warm and we used a pair of kitchen towels to wipe each other clean of the evidence of our love. In the glare of the kitchen gas light, I checked his opening to be sure that I had not been too rough. My greatest fear is that I will harm him as his 'customers' did while he was enslaved in the whore house.

"You could never harm me, dear heart. I love you too much for there to be any pain. If I could have you inside of me twenty four hours a day, it would not be too much." He reads my mind sometimes with such accuracy.

Kissing his most private mouth, I then dabbed on the healing cream that Watson gave us for just such occasions. He wiggled and laughed at its coolness, then sighed when I spread it as deep inside of him as my middle finger would go. Taking hold of my disgraceful libido, I finished by washing my hands and trying not to catch his eye. Really, for a man of my age, I should *not* be thinking about making love for a third time in one evening.

Or rather morning since in a few hours we would need to be up and about. His arms slid around my waist and he pressed kisses up my spine until he reached my neck where he licked at my sensitive hair line. I shuddered and covered his hands with mine, holding him in place. 

"To bed, my love. We need a few hours sleep at least before we investigate the shop to see if we're missing any books." I turned in his arms and caught him smiling.

"All right." He pressed close and rubbed against me teasingly. "You older men get so cranky when you don't get your sleep."

Growling in mock anger, I quickly bent and hoisted him over my shoulder to carry him to bed. Stopping to blow out the lamp, I ignored his laughing gasps and the rain of half hearted blows upon my back. In our bedroom, I gently threw him on the bed and turned out that lamp as well before sliding in beside him and pulling him up over me like I would pull up a blanket.

He snuggled close, his head nestled in the hollow of my shoulder and his satiated cock in its own warm nest between my thighs. "Love you, Josiah. Never stop loving you." He yawned against my skin with a moist puff of air.

"Loving you is my reason for living, David." I brushed a kiss over the fair hair beneath my chin. "Now go to sleep and dream of me."

"Always." His sleepy murmur was the last thing I heard before falling back asleep.

*****

I watched David move a little gingerly the next morning while we checked the inner sanctum to see if any of the rare books were missing. Before we moved out to the main floor, I stopped him and tilted up his head to see if there was pain. He can never hide that from me . . . not when I can see his eyes. The windows to his heart and soul.

"No, there's no pain, Josiah." His clear blue gaze smiled up at me. "Just this reminder that you were deep inside of me last night. An ache that begs to be filled again and again." Each word was punctuated by a soft kiss over my freshly shaven cheeks and chin.

I groaned softly, unwilling to give Alfred any clues to what we were doing, although he probably knew full well. His longtime lover worked at the British Museum, one of a hundred assistant curators. He specialized in Oriental porcelains and we had all four enjoyed many an evening discussing our varied interests. It was extremely convenient to not have to hide who or what we were from such a long time employee. I knew full well how rare a case that was.

"You must heal from my overenthusiastic loving first before. I never wish to hurt you, even by accident. As you should know by now." I held him at arm's length and he laughed up at me.

"Well then, I shall have to be very, very bad so you must chastise me again." 

I caught him up into a fervent kiss, sucking his tongue straight into my mouth and entwining it with my own. When we broke for air, I rested my forehead against his and sighed. "In two days time, I wish you to take me after a little chastising of my own."

His eyes lit up and he wriggled all over before gently brushing his mouth over mine. "Yes, all right. I thought up something new the other day. I think you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will. Now, back to work. If we each take a duster, we can go over most of the shop before we open at ten." I stepped away from him reluctantly and moved ahead of him into the public area. Something new? It sounded . . . interesting and it was with an extreme act of will that I brought my mind back to the task at hand.

I explained to Alfred the alarm in the night and he took the north wall to check and see if anything was missing. David and I took the east and west walls respectively. A used bookstore like ours needs to have an air of clutter to give the customer the feeling that he or she is going to find a treasure hidden away, unknown to us. But the untidy appearance masks an order that would be immediately apparent to another bookseller. After a half an hours intense inspection, nothing was found to be missing.

"Josiah, this is odd." David had a book in one hand and a letter in the other, his duster wedged on top of a row of books just above counter lever. "I know we went through all these books before putting them out and this wasn't here then. Do you think we're acting as some lover's post office?"

I crossed over and we met at the counter. The cream colored envelope held a cancelled stamp, a smudged postmark I couldn't read and an address in northern London. The envelope was open and part of what appeared to be a shopping list was jotted on the back. "Soap, foot powder, razor blades and . . . what is that word?" I struggled to make it out.

"Brush? Is there anything inside?" David's fingers pulled back the flap and ran his fingers over the glue. The untouched glue. 

Our eyes met while we pondered how an envelope could go through the mails without ever being sealed. There was a sheet of thick, rich paper inside and David's slender fingers pulled it out gently while I looked inside to be sure there was nothing else there. Nothing.

"It looks very ordinary, Josiah. Except for the ink of course. Who uses purple ink these days?" He held it flat against the counter and Alfred joined us, craning his neck to read the short note. The short, completely mundane note about tea and shopping on Saturday.

"Dated two weeks ago." Alfred noted.

"Could it be a code? Like in that story that Dr. Watson wrote. The Adventure of the Dancing Men."

"That was symbols he had to decipher into English words." Alfred objected. We are all three inveterate readers of the good Doctor.

"But this could be a substitution code of some kind." I mused and read it over again.

"Well, I think we should send it to Holmes and see what he says. Explain what happened and let him ferret out its secrets. If there are any." David smiled and glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in an alcove near my office door. "Heavens, we need to put up the blinds and open the door."

Alfred gave a low exclamation of dismay and began a quick tidying away of our dust cloths. I slipped the odd letter into my pocket and went to the front door to open for business. David rolled up the inner blinds and let the early morning glimmer of winter light into the shop. The snow was still shoveled off the sidewalks and one of our regulars was shivering on the doorstep when I opened it.

"Good morning, Mr. Harbottle. Do you have that Sumerian text for me?" Jonathan King was a student in theology at Oxford doing some reading at the British Museum for the semester. He had the financial means to collect the books and manuscripts he needed instead of just borrowing them from learned institutions.

I did indeed have the manuscript for which he'd been looking and the morning passed quickly after I'd satisfied him. Business was brisk and the three of us were kept quite busy until about two o'clock when I sent Alfred off for a mid-day meal. I'd taken a moment to write a quick note and seal it and the letter with its envelope into a small package that he could slip into his pocket and deliver to Dr. Watson's office. It was on his way to the restaurant where he usually met Simon, his lover.

For some reason, I did not wish to draw attention to our finding of the letter. I had the vague feeling that there were eyes upon us and had been since we'd thrown up the blinds. During a lull between customers, David asked me quietly what was wrong.

I shrugged. "A feeling. I don't know what it is. Just a feeling."

"I'm going up to eat. Will you be all right alone? I could send Mrs. Green down to tidy up your office?" He said slyly. He knows how much I hate to have anyone but him touching anything in the office. Especially our char woman, who has a heart of gold but a very heavy hand when it comes to cleaning.

"I'll be fine, David. Off with you and don't eat all the shepherd's pie. Save some for your poor starving partner." I tried to sound pathetic but he just laughed and disappeared into the workroom and up the stairs to our rooms.

The rest of the day passed quietly. I took my turn upstairs to eat and endured a constant stream of dialog from the good woman who comes daily to cook and clean for us. It never took more than a . . . 'really' or a . . . 'you don't say' to make her happy. She's a treasure and very forgiving of our life style. She's been with us since David joined the household and she mothers him as I don't think he was ever mothered at home. But then he doesn't talk about his family much at all.

A note came from Dr. Watson acknowledging our package and inviting us to visit 221B Baker Street at nine that night. The small urchin who brought the note waited and took our acceptance and a new shilling back with him. I don't know where Holmes finds his young helpers, but in his own way, I think he cares for the poor as much as David and I do.

We were open until seven o'clock that night and David was on tenderhooks while we ate the tea that Mrs. Green had left for us. He loves a good mystery and the thought we might be a part of one, excited him into chattering speech I let flow over me like the waters of a babbling stream.

"I know, I'm talking too much." He grinned and sat on my lap with his arms around my neck. Thank goodness all our chairs are good, strong English oak.

"You'll have to behave yourself with Holmes, little imp." I kissed him tenderly as I had wished to do a hundred times during the day.

"Heavens. I won't say a word once we get there." He rested his head on my shoulder and shivered. "He's so stern and quiet, I'd be afraid to say anything for fear he would think me an idiot."

"It's true he doesn't suffer fools gladly but he is not an ogre, David. I think he is shy and very reserved around people he doesn't know well." I could not betray a confidence but I suddenly wished to share his and Watson's love with my own lover.

He knows me too well, leaning back in my arms and gazing at me in speculation. "You consider him a friend."

"Yes. I believe I do. As much as he *can* be friends. He's such a private man I fear to trespass on his time. But I do know he craves mental stimulation and this just may be a puzzle he will enjoy."

"Well, at least Dr. Watson will be there. He's as warm hearted as Holmes is cold." David snuggled closer and began to stroke my chest.

"Oh, I don't know, love. Holmes is quite passionate in his search for the truth. Perhaps that spills over into other parts of his life as well." It was as close as I could get to telling him without their permission.

"Hm-m-m. May we walk over to Baker Street? It seems we've been very sedentary today." David sat upright and looked expectantly at me.

"Yes, of course, we can. But that means we should leave now. It's a good forty minutes to 221B." I smiled fondly at my energetic lover. Such a beautiful bundle of energy and all mine, I thought in satisfaction.

"All right!" And he sprang up to get ready. 

Within a few moments, we were on our way, well dressed against the elements. Within a block, the odd feeling of being watched was back but it was impossible to tell who it could be. Even after eight o'clock, the streets were well filled with people. Was I just obsessing over nothing? However tonight turned out, I decided, we were taking a cab home. I would not risk David's safety.

It was a relief when we reached our destination. Mrs. Hudson answered our knock with a smile and help with our coats. David smiled at her and kissed her hand in thanks. I watched while she patted his cheek and asked him if he were eating enough. I've found it's his slender good looks that bring out the maternal instinct in most women.

The door to the upper rooms opened and Dr. Watson appeared, calling down. "Welcome, Josiah. How are you, David? Come up and have a drink on this cold night."

And we climbed the stairs in search of an answer to our little mystery.

************************


	10. The Noise in the Night Explored

********* Sherlock ***********

I looked up from my work bench where I'd been examining the envelope sent over from the Harbottles when Watson opened the door and greeted our guests. I was feeling a little nervous at meeting them now I knew their history, but was unsure whether they both knew ours. This was one of those moments when I had to follow Watson's lead. Strong drink might help, I decided and crossed to the sideboard for the whiskey.

They entered and I acknowledged their greetings with a slight smile and a request for their preferences. Josiah crossed over immediately and said the whiskey would be fine. David and Watson chose the sherry, going back to the fire with their glasses with the young man settling on the foot stool at Watson's feet.

"I see you have already been investigating our little problem, Holmes. Is it a wild goose chase or is there something going on?" Josiah spotted the envelope and crossed to my workbench with his drink.

"At first, I found nothing." I joined him and used the tongs to pick up the letter and hold it to the light. "Except, of course, the fact that the envelope had never gone through the post. The smudged post mark is regular ink and not the kind used by the government. The address does not exist and the handwriting though supposed to be female is male in every element."

Watson and David joined us, listening intently. It is a very heady experience to have three such men hanging on my every word. I must admit to a strong need for such an audience or at least the part of it that is my lover.

"Now, the letter is very interesting. The ink is an interesting combination of dyes that so far as I know is not on the open market. That was intriguing to me and when we find the inkwell, the proof will be indisputable. The handwriting is the same as on the envelope. A masculine hand trying to disguise itself as feminine."

"I thought it might be like the Dancing Men problem Uncle John wrote about earlier. Even though it's not characters. But still a code." David asked eagerly while Watson looked on indulgently.

"I wondered that myself, David, but so far it has not panned out. However, an interesting event occurred when I washed it in a wet solution and held it to the lamp."

"Ah, invisible ink?" Josiah asked.

"Exactly. The message was quite simple. Setting up a meeting point for the exchange of the 'merchandise'. What ever that might be." I laid the letter back down gently on the table. "We could be talking a criminal gang or even espionage. There is insufficient information for even an educated guess."

Josiah nodded slowly. "I have had an impression we were being watched since we opened. We knew all the customers in today and no one even approached the bookcase where we found the letter."

"If we put it back and watched to see who comes for it, perhaps we could catch them." David said hesitantly, looking from Josiah to I with a hopeful look.

"Or better yet, follow the person to the meet and find out who he's meeting and what the 'merchandise' is." Watson knows me too well and already knew what I was going to suggest.

"An excellent idea, John. Perhaps, Holmes will loan us some of his Irregulars to follow the suspect." Josiah took a drink and raised an eyebrow at me.

It felt very strange to hear another call John by his first name. Unsettling to say the least. I watched my lover and David return to the fire while the bookseller and I stood side by side. The two made a striking picture in the firelight. Although they looked nothing alike, their spirits were similar and I mused on how very lucky I was.

"They are both blithe spirits, Holmes." Josiah's tones eerily echoed my thoughts. "David is sunshine and laughter for my rather sedate nature. I expect John acts as your balance as David is mine."

"Yes." Speaking to another was hard but I persevered. "He is the light who shines into my dark corners. I disappoint him constantly but he has an eternally forgiving nature."

"You are not as dark a soul as you think, Holmes." Josiah sipped his whiskey and watched me with understanding eyes. "Is this problem worth pursuing? The sense of being watched is disquieting. I wish no harm to come to David."

"I understand." And I did. Thinking of Watson being hurt because of one of my cases, makes me shudder. "But I think we must pursue it, if only for our own peace of mind."

"Yes. I love puzzles with answers." Josiah nodded at the envelope. "Not to mention, our duty to society. Whatever these miscreants have in mind, it must be illegal or why else the charade?"

"I think we should put it back and see what happens. Is Alfred in your confidence?" I asked and wondered at his smile.

"Yes, he was there when we found it. He is privy to all our life and business. With the three of us taking turns to watch that section, I'm sure we will spot the person who comes to retrieve the missive."

"I think one of the Irregulars could be on duty in the back of the shop. Perhaps a coded statement from the one who spots the go-between to another of you who then would go to the back and set the young man on his trail. I doubt the messenger would be very high up in the organization but where he goes should tell us what kind of 'merchandise' is involved." I thought quickly, outlining the bare bones of our attempt.

"I wish we knew if this was just a first time drop at our shop or whether this has been going on for some time. I hate to think I've been so careless as to miss an ongoing operation right under my nose." He looked angry and depressed at the same time.

"How did you come to find it in the first place?" I asked and he sighed and told me of the events of the night before. The sound in the shop, the unlocked door and David's investigation.

The young man had acted quite properly in my opinion and I viewed him approvingly. Watson had a hand on his shoulder while David spoke earnestly about something, leaning against his knees. Whatever John replied made them both laugh and I watched with a twinge while my lover tousled David's fair hair.

"They have been friends from the very beginning, Holmes. I think John's great heart took David in when he was hurt and frightened. He's always felt very fatherly towards him while I was never able to achieve that distance." Josiah smiled faintly and finished his whiskey. "It wasn't a week before I wanted to love and protect him from all hurts, even if that meant protecting him from myself. And those 'unnatural' feelings I was having."

Our eyes met and I nodded, shaken by the words which echoed my own feelings so closely. What must it be like to be able to say them out loud to another, especially one who you know will understand? I had thought my feelings wrong but now, I knew they were right and natural even though society might condemn us for them.

"A lifetime would not be long enough." I managed to say and hoped he would understand what I meant.

"Exactly. They are very precious and rare men and even though we try to protect them, I expect they will insist on being full participants in this investigation." He sighed fondly and caught David's eye.

The young man grinned at him, his whole face lighting up with joy. His resemblance to one of the old masters' angels was quite remarkable and I could see his love for Josiah painted in broad strokes of bright colors. How liberating to be able to show love so easily and yet I thought about his introduction to the physical act of sex and how he must have felt to even think of turning it into an expression of love. 

"He's a very brave young man, Josiah. If we are careful, they will both provide us with that balance you spoke of earlier." I chose my words carefully but was still surprised by the open smile of my companion. Really, it lightened his dark features and made him look ten years younger. I wondered if I looked like that when someone complimented John. I'd have to ask him.

Josiah and I joined the others by the fire and went over the plan very carefully so each of us knew the precise sequence of events. It was David who came up with the idea of my coming in disguise to the shop. He seems to have enjoyed those earlier episodes that Watson has written about. We chose a Professor Attley whom we both knew I could impersonate. He was currently studying in Berlin so need never know he had been seen lurking in bookstores.

I put the letter back in the envelope and gave it to Josiah to replace in the book. Grey's Elegies. An interesting choice of tome to hide an invitation to thievery, for such was what I was sure the letter implied. They said goodnight and Watson followed them down to the door to be sure they got a hansom cab.

Stirring the fire, I sat on the same footstool David had just vacated. Clasping my hands around my knees, I leaned back a little and thought about the evening. I am usually reticent when others visit unless I have something to say. Chit-chat is not one of my strengths but tonight felt different somehow. I thought back over the implied words behind what Josiah and I had shared in speech.

Now, I was more sure than ever that we could be friends. Or perhaps already were. Why then the frisson whenever he called Watson, John? David's 'Uncle John' was perfectly acceptable but then he was younger by a full ten years than any of us.

"That was a most enjoyable evening, Holmes." Watson rejoined me, shutting and locking the door behind him. "Even with no problem to solve, I think we would have enjoyed a most agreeable hour or two."

He sat back down in his chair and touched my arm gently. Leaning against his knees as I had seen David do, I looked up into his sparkling blue eyes.

"It was a most enjoyable evening, John. I find that I was not so tongue tied as normal. There is something about Josiah that invites confidences."

John brushed back the lock of hair that is always falling onto my forehead. "Booksellers and doctors are very similar professions, my love. I deal with bodies while he helps with hearts and minds. I'm glad you found you could talk with him."

"It was more what we didn't say behind the words than we did." I said rather confusingly but he nodded and leaned forward to brush a kiss over my forehead. By stretching up, I was able to bring those tempting lips to mine. He tasted of sweet sherry and himself. An intoxicating combination.

"But something is troubling you? I can see it here." And he traced a gentle finger between my eyebrows.

"I thought it rather endearing when David called you 'Uncle John'. Especially when I think about what you told me about his horrible ordeal. But each time Josiah called you by your first name, I tightened up inside." I looked up in bewilderment.

"Ah, I thought it might be something like that. Conventional wisdom tells us that men only use last names unless there is a familial connection. The two of us have created a family so we can call each other by our first names. Friends are family of the heart. Josiah and I shared the care of young David from the beginning so we created a small family unit. He is like a brother to me and so we both use first names."

"I think I see." I considered the concept while he lovingly combed through my hair in a soothing caress. "But I'm outside that unit and so feel that it threatens our bond. Perhaps even a bit of jealousy thrown in as well because of your history together."

"Exactly. Just as I can't help feeling a bit jealous when you go and visit Mycroft." He spoke calmly and never varied his touches. "You share a great deal of history together and are blood relatives beside. I can not help but think of the old adage, 'blood is thicker than water'."

"What! You can not doubt that you are first in my heart, John?" I sat up and clasped both his hands in mine. "I love you more than life itself."

"It is the same for me, Sherlock." He kissed my hands and held them tightly. "You are the center of my life. Come and let me show you how much I love you."

He drew me up and together we climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He undressed me as if I were a present whose wrapping he couldn't bear to tear. I slid into his new bed, the one I got him for his birthday so we could make love in either room in comfort. Mrs. Hudson thought it was an heirloom from his family, sent to him after his father's estate had been settled. It had arrived the week before and we had yet to make love in it. Tonight would be our christening of the new mattress in the antique oak Tudor bedstead.

My eyes never left his swift sure movements as he disrobed hastily and joined me with a sigh of contentment. It is heaven to hold him so. Every inch of our skins touching from our toes to our foreheads. We made slow love with mouths and hands, turned so each could pleasure the other. When we rested after our climaxes, I mused on how decadent I would have found this position just a few months ago.

"Dearest Sherlock, come back up here so I can hold you properly." His languorous tones brought me alert from my sleepy nuzzling of his softened sex.

I rejoined him on the plump new pillows in their crisp white linen cases and shared a Watson-flavored kiss with him. Together we made quite a unique combination of exotic taste. He held me close and we fell asleep soon after.

******* Josiah ***********

"Josiah, do we have a copy of the the Sermons of Dr. Beatty?" David's voice came to me from where I was helping one of our regulars choose between song books. I excused myself for a moment, my heart beating just ever so slightly faster when I recognized the code we'd agreed upon.

A nondescript figure stood by the suspect bookcase, idly pulling out texts and then putting them back. Holmes was standing at the counter in his Dr. Attley disguise. I joined David and smiled on the bewhiskered stooped old man who peered over half moon glasses.

"The Reverend George Montgomery Beatty. His sermons from 1848." The wavering voice fit his current persona perfectly.

"I'm not sure, Sir but if you could wait a moment, I can check in the back where we just got in a new shipment from the Archdiocese of Westchester. I believe that is where the good Doctor is from?"

"Quite right, young man. If you would be so kind."

I headed for the back and the waiting Wiggins. I described the man as best I could and he nodded decisively and headed out the backdoor to loiter on the corner by the alley just a few steps from the front door. I waited a few moments then went back to play out the game. My eyes contemplated the new dead bolt that graced our alley door. Holmes had rather dismissed our lock as easily opened and I'd made a solemn resolve to have it changed very soon. 

I would not take any chances with our safety. I went back out with a frown and offered to search for the sermons 'Dr. Attley' was looking for. He declined somewhat huffily and departed with the man we were trying not to watch. David and I exchanged a long look and I went back to our real customer.

It was Alfred's day off and so it was evening before David and I could be alone together. A note from Dr. Watson informed us they'd been successful in tracing him to the meet. He asked us to join them at Simpson's for dinner at eight and we sent back our acceptance. 

David loves dressing up and I allowed him to pick out my suit and tie. His taste is impeccable so I am content to let him dress me up like a dandy. For I don't have to look at myself, I can simply feast my eyes on him. And in his black suit and white shirt with rounded collar, with his fair hair brushed until it shines, he would be the focus of all eyes not I.

We caught a hansom cab two blocks from home and held hands all the way to the restaurant. David loves eating out and watching the other diners. He has a vivid imagination and loves making up stories about them. Our dinners are never boring when we can afford to eat out. And lately, that had been an infrequent event because of the purchase of the Duke of Hereford's collection. But our catalog had gone out that morning and hopefully, the buyers would begin knocking on our door to purchase the gems of his library.

Watson and Holmes were already in the prized corner booth when we arrived. They had ordered for us so there was no waiting when we sat down but an instant arrival of the clear soup. Prawns followed with a clear white wine that refreshed the palate. We spoke of little nothings although I could see that David was on tenderhooks with curiosity. But with the waiter constantly popping by to bring us more bread or to clear plates, we could not speak of what we wished.

Finally, the Dover sole with lemon sauce was served and our conversation abated until our hunger was sated. We chose the cheese tray for afters and finally the waiter left us to our own devices.

"It appears the situation may be more serious than we first imagined." Holmes was choosing his words carefully and spoke from behind his napkin which dabbed his thin lips. "The courier went to a house well known in the world of diplomacy. I have sent word to a . . . friend in the government to see if anything is missing."

David's eyes widened and he spoke softly. "State secrets in the hands of a foreign power?"

"It is a possibility. We will know more tomorrow or even later tonight." Watson spoke from behind his raised glass as if he were inspecting the wine and I realized they feared lip readers.

Their backs were to the walls while we had ours to the sides. "Is there something we can do to help?"

"It may be we will need allies in our search for the truth. Depending on what is being exchanged, we will need entry into the embassy."

"Well, if it is the German Embassy, I expect we will be called in a day or two. Our catalog went out today and Baron Hauptmann will immediately wish to buy certain of the volumes." My voice was low and my eyes remained on the cheese assortment but I saw Holmes grow still.

"It was indeed. Your assistance may prove invaluable." Holmes' voice warmed and his slight smile lightened his whole face. Watson smiled as well but not at any of us.

The doctor stood and held out his hand. "Stephen Wenton. I thought you were still on the Continent?"

A pleasing tenor laughingly answered and I turned slightly to see the tall man who was warmly shaking Watson's hand. The waiter was bringing another chair for the dark haired man with a curiously mobile face and he sat down on David's other side with a charming acknowledgement of us all.

"Six months is a long time, Wenton. How did you find Berlin?" Holmes waved to the waiter for another bottle of wine and glass.

"Very interesting, Holmes. The Germanic peoples are such an energetic race. Always up and doing. But very little crime, my dear Holmes. You'd be bored stiff." He teased the detective while appraising us with shrewd eyes that belied his drawling manner.

"We were just speaking of the German Embassy. The Harbottles were saying that their catalog was delivered today. Baron Hauptmann is a bibliophile of some repute." Holmes' hand restlessly played with his napkin on the table.

Wenton's eyebrow went up and he pulled forth an envelope which he gave to Watson with a flourish. "Then, this will not be amiss. A friend asked me to deliver it to you. It seems I've come home in time for an arousing game of hide and seek."

Holmes took the missive and opened it, pulling forth the heavy vellum note. He read swiftly before passing it to Watson. "Forgive us, Josiah. It is most rude but I believe time may be of the essence just now. Would you be willing to take young Wiggins into the shop tomorrow in case the Baron sends for you?"

"Certainly, Holmes. He's reading one of the serials and he looked rather forlorn when he had to leave it behind today." I said dryly and David grinned, his white teeth flashing and his dimple flashing the stranger.

Wenton looked rather stunned at my partner's beauty and I hid a smile at the common reaction. The wonderful thing is of course, David simply doesn't realize what effect he has on others. Wenton recovered himself and looked a question at Holmes.

"Tell my brother that I shall value his thoughts on this matter and of course, your aid if he can so spare you." Holmes gave the little half smile that so changed his dark features.

"I shall insist. It's not every day one gets to help the great detective solve a mystery." Wenton arched an eyebrow and smiled winsomely on us all. "And find a good bookstore, all at the same time."

Watson snorted with laughter. "Stephen . . . Stephen. London has been very dull without you. You must visit the Harbottles and see if they can satisfy your appetite for military armament."

"Of course I shall. Tomorrow, as soon as they open, I shall arrive to scour their shelves for gems." He smiled at us both but his eyes lingered on my companion.

"We have quite a good section on military history and the arms and armor of medieval England." David said shyly. He is determined to hold up his end of the selling. As if he had to prove himself to me. That endearing trait made me want to gather him up and love him senseless.

"Then I shall most assuredly come by in the morning. Unless Mr. Holmes has other errands for me." He grinned at David.

Holmes had been writing on the back of the message Wenton had given him and now he slipped it back into the envelope and gave it to Watson for the man beside him. "That should explain our plans up to this point. Tell him to be patient. We've never let him down yet."

Wenton rolled his eyes heavenward. "Patience is the one virtue he *does* have. Except when he wants something." He rose and took his farewell of us with a cheery wave and another promise to see us in the morning. When he walked away, I noticed his graceful gait. Rather like some fencers I knew.

Our party broke up after that and we saw our dinner companions into a hansom cab while we decided to walk home. That feeling of being watched was quite gone and I needed the exercise. We walked quickly in the chill winter air and I couldn't help noticing a pondering look on David's face.

"A penny for your thoughts, my love."

He started and looked sheepishly up at me. "I was just remembering certain things from dinner tonight. Holmes and Uncle John are lovers, aren't they? I can't think how I could have missed it before but it was quite plain to me by the time the waiter brought the cheese tray."

"I knew you would figure it out eventually. They know of us as well. Both of them."

"Oh dear." He blushed and tucked his hand into the crook of my elbow. "Holmes isn't quite as intimidating any more. But it's still hard to picture them . . . together."

"It took many years for them to acknowledge their feelings and it's only been a short while since they became lovers." I hesitated to say more.

"I think we were really lucky, Josiah." David looked up at me with a sweet smile. "I knew from the moment I woke up in your bed that you were the center of my world. I loved your voice and the gentle touch of your hands. I was sure I'd always be safe with you and I have been."

Gripping his arm tightly, I fought back tears at his words. "You *are* the center of my life. Without you I'd be a boring old man, nattering on about books and dry subjects. You are all my joy."

"And you are mine. I hope they realize how very precious love is." David leaned just a little into my arm but kept on walking so our appearance was of two men supporting each other over sometimes icy sidewalks.

"They do, little one. John spoke of finding the other half of his soul. The same realization is in Holmes' eyes. Although, he can not yet articulate it." We walked on, perhaps a little more quickly since our declarations of love. I know I was thinking ahead to taking him to bed and making slow sweet love to him. Which reminded me of Wenton's evident admiration of my lover. "Your new admirer will be in tomorrow without fail."

His lilting chortle lifted my heart. "Wenton is a flirt. Did you see all the expressions on his face? How old do you think he is? As old as you?"

"A few years younger, imp. I shall let you wait on him so you can part him from as much of his money as possible." Home was a mere three blocks away and I was anxious to get there. "Should we show him the manuscript of Don . . ."

The attack was sudden. One moment we were walking along, then three men rushed from the alley we were approaching and swung various sticks at us. I swept David behind me and met the first blow with my upraised forearm then the second got my walking stick in his stomach. But the third got through my guard and what felt like a lead pipe smashed against my shoulder.

"Josiah!" David's cry broke through my paralysis and I turned against the waves of pain to find him struggling with one of the ruffians. But the other two had me bracketed and I couldn't get to him. The shrill sound of a police whistle resounded through the still night air and the tall constable running towards us was a most welcome sight.

"Here now, what's all this?" His official tone broke our little tableau into pieces with the three hoodlums letting go and running away down the alley from which they'd come. He followed them a little ways then returned to us.

David was holding me up while I cradled my arm against my body. It felt like the joint was out of place and moving made me sick to my stomach. "Officer, would you please help me get my cousin to our shop? It's Constable Henry, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is, Mr. Harbottle. I'll just take your place while you go ahead to open the doors for us. That was a nasty whack you took, sir. We'd probably better see about getting a doctor to take a look."

A small voice piped up from behind us and I heard David exclaim. "Wiggins, you're out late. Would you get Dr. Watson for us, please? And tell Holmes what happened?"

"Right you are, sir. Be back in a flash." And the small urchin was on his way.

Constable Henry took David's place under my right arm while my lover took my walking stick and hovered at my wounded side. We started towards the shop and the alley entrance and each step jarred the pain up a notch until I wondered if I would be sick in the street. A cold sweat broke out over my whole body and my control was at it's limit when we reached the door that David had darted ahead to open.

"Please, a moment's rest before we climb the stairs, Constable Henry." I was leaning on him and I felt his nod of comprehension while David lit the workroom lamp with shaking hands.

"Would that be Dr. John Watson that you sent the young lad after?" The constable asked hesitantly. "And Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, we had dinner with them tonight at Simpson's. They took a hansom cab but we decided to walk since we'd been in the shop all day." David opened the door at the foot of the stairs and peered anxiously back at us.

"Feeling a little better, sir? Why don't we try to get you upstairs now."

"Yes. Thank you, Constable Henry. I don't know what we'd have done without you." I managed to grit out while the stairs wavered before me like the slope of a great mountain I wasn't sure I could climb. Only the sight of David hovering a few steps up enabled me to keep going.

We reached the top of the stairs and the young constable's strength was sorely tested getting me the distance to our bedroom. David and he got my coat off as gently as they could but I was sweating by the time I could lay down on the bed.

The constable went down to watch at the back door for the others arrival and David tried to make me comfortable. He pulled off my shoes and removed my belt, covering me with the dark brown and maroon quilt that normally hung at the foot of the bed. When I opened my eyes at the feel of his shaking fingers undoing my tie, I surprised him crying soundlessly.

"Oh, love. It's all right. We're safe now." I managed a husky whisper that brought his blue eyes with their crystalline tears to mine.

"They could have killed you." He gingerly pulled off my high stiff collar and laid it aside on the bedside table. Sitting by my side on the edge of the bed, he stroked my chest gently. "I didn't even have time to be afraid for myself because I thought they would kill you."

"But they didn't, David. Constable Henry saved us and now Dr. Watson will make my shoulder better." I could feel myself riding the waves of pain with a little less control each time. "I think I'm going to be sick, love."

I heard him shift the basin from the chest of drawers to the bedside table. A cool wet cloth on my forehead eased the pounding in my head temporarily and the need to vomit lessened. His fingers tenderly stroked my cheek and I moved my head just far enough to brush my dry lips across his salty flesh.

A knock on the door sent him hurrying to let in the doctor. "Oh, Uncle John, thank God you came. He's in dreadful pain."

"Of course, I came, David. Holmes is questioning the constable and Wiggins told us what he knew so let me take a look." Different fingers took my pulse and tested my temperature. "Well, Josiah. You look much the worse for wear. Where did he hit you?"

"It was his left shoulder. He used it to block one blow while he hit the second man with his cane but the third one hit his shoulder." David's shaky voice sounded from the other side of the bed and I opened my eyes in time to see Watson reach for the wounded part.

Gritting my teeth, I endured his gentle probing and swallowed hard to keep my stomach's contents in place. He murmured something under his breath and the touch deepened. I must have gone white because David's cry of alarm made him ease off.

"Josiah, I believe your shoulder is dislocated and we'll need to set it back in place. It's going to hurt. Would you like something for the pain first? We can hold off for a bit and some laudanum would take the edge off." His kind voice laid out the program in uncompromising detail.

"No. Thank you, John. Just do it quickly." I managed through the layers of pain weighing me down.

"I'm going to ask Holmes to help, if that's all right. We'll need more than David's weight to provide a counterbalance to my pulling. But first, let's get you undressed so you'll be comfortable when you finally sleep." Watson's brisk tones made me feel better with his matter of fact recitation.

The next few moments were a trial while they gently manhandled me out of my clothes. The two times I opened my eyes, I saw a worried look on John's face and more tears on David's cheeks. He has such a tender soul and he hates causing another pain, this had to be almost hurting him as much as it did me. Watson left us briefly and David took both the pillows from the bed so I lay completely flat beneath the sheets. 

"I love you, Josiah." He whispered in my ear while he blotted away the tears with a edge of the sheet. Even after crying steadily for many minutes, he still looked beautiful to me.

"I love you too, imp." My voice was almost too soft for my own ears but he heard me and gentled a kiss beneath my ear.

Watson's voice preceded them into the room and I opened my eyes to see an almost worried look on Holmes' face. *How nice.* I thought muzzily. *Perhaps we really are friends.*

"David, if you will hold down his legs, Holmes will anchor his chest while I put the joint back into place." Watson's voice was gentle but authoritative and I felt David lay across my legs while the sharp clean scent of Holmes' tobacco overwhelmed my senses.

"Watson knows what he's doing, Josiah. He had to put me right once a few years back when I lost an argument with some bully boys down at the docks." Holmes spoke matter of factly while his strong hand moved my right hand up onto my chest and laid his over it, his other going to my shoulder.

"I have absolute faith in John's healing abilities, Holmes. Watch over David until I come back, please." I managed to grate out while the doctor took my left hand in his.

"Quite right, Josiah. We'll all have a nice cup of tea while we wait . . ." 

Watson's voice distracted me while he pulled suddenly up and out with a twist and the pain wrenched me right out of my body into a dark and bottomless pit.

**************************


	11. The Noise in the Night Escalates

*********** Sherlock ************

Josiah passed out with a moan when John put his dislocated shoulder back into place. I was holding him down when it happened and felt him shudder beneath my hands. I well remembered the searing pain I'd felt so many years before. It was the first time I'd ever touched the naked skin of another man except for John's and I was amazed at the tenderness I felt for this man I now considered a friend. 

"Thank goodness he's passed out. I'll need to secure his arm to his side so he can give the joint time to heal from its wrenching. Holmes, would you bring my bag in? I have some herbs I'd like to bind to the joint." My lover was all brisk instructions while he watched Josiah's lover out of the corner of his eye.

Young David was standing by the edge of the bed watching John work on his lover with tear tracks on his pale cheeks. I felt a sudden surge of empathy for him and patted his shoulder awkwardly when I passed him for the outer room. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Josiah's face.

"David, would you get me some hot water? Almost boiling but not quite. The heat will ease his pain when he comes to." Watson directed the young man out of the room after me.

I held the door for him and he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before taking a deep breath and following me out. He managed a smile for the constable before heading for the kitchen. Wiggins was sitting on the edge of the settee, taking in the room with quick darting looks but when I entered, his eyes came straight to me.

"Constable Henry, I know you are late for the rest of your rounds. Please give your sergeant my regards and explain you were unavoidably detained. Young Harbottle will be more than happy to answer questions about the attack tomorrow. And hopefully, Harbottle senior will be able to give a description of the hooligans." I traded on the reputation that most of the young constables believed in with such awe.

He'd sprung to his feet at my first words and nodded. "Yes, sir. I expect Inspector Greeling of Fifth Division will be by in the morning. Will you be here then, sir?"

I smiled at the delicately phrased question. "Yes. I expect both Dr. Watson and I will be here. The good doctor will not wish to leave his patient. Right now, why don't you and I take your lantern and do a quick reconnaissance of the alley where they waited for their victims." 

"Yes, sir!" He stood at attention, trying unsuccessfully to keep his smile from his face.

Motioning him to wait, I crossed to the kitchen to find David standing by the coal stove, waiting for the water to boil. He had wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth in agitation. "David, could I have a key to get back in? We're going to take a look around outside to see if the attackers left behind any sign."

He started at my voice but immediately dug into his pocket and brought out a key ring with several keys attached. "It's . . . it's this one for the back door. Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

I took them from his trembling hand. "I wish I could have protected you both better, David."

He tried a smile and shook his head. "Just find out who and why."

"That I can do. We'll be back in less than an hour. At least, Wiggins and I will. The good constable needs to go back on his rounds before his sergeant comes looking for him." I smiled at him and left to the sound of the whistling tea kettle.

Sticking my head back in the bedroom door, I watched Watson taking Josiah's pulse again and frowning. "We're just going out for a brief survey of the alley then Wiggins and I will be back. The water was just boiling when I left the kitchen."

"Be careful." He smiled softly from across the room.

"Always." I promised and led the others from the cozy apartment down to the cold dark alley. Wiggins had a lantern as well so we were well supplied with light. We searched carefully but even in the small pools of illumination there was little to find. The butt of a hand rolled cigar, well chewed and imperfectly put out was our only clue. The frost had just begun to touch it, which would be just about right for the attackers. I would dissect it later.

Sending the constable on his way with a hand written note in his notebook to assuage some of his superior's wrath, I instructed Wiggins to return in the morning with two of his confederates for a series of errands. He scampered off after I gave him a fistful of telegrams, I'd hastily written in the book shop workroom, that would start tracking down the attackers. Such a promising young man. I'd be willing to bet if I'd asked him to describe the Harbottle's sitting room, he would be able to give me chapter and verse.

I carefully locked up behind me and moved silently up the stairs. Low voices from the bedroom drew me to the door to watch the two men who cared for the unconscious man in the bed. White bandages criss-crossed the dark hirsute chest and David was wringing out another cloth for the sweat bedewed forehead.

His eyes fluttered open briefly and David leaned over him anxiously and called his name. "Josiah. Your shoulder is going to be all right. Uncle John has it bandaged so you can't move it."

The brown eyes moved to Watson next and my lover leaned down and laid his hand over the pale arm strapped to his side. "Can you feel my hand?" He waited for a brief nod and smiled. "Good. I don't want it too tight and cut off your circulation but I also don't want you to move it for a day or two. Holmes and I are going to make some tea and after you drink a cup, you need to sleep."

Josiah nodded and tried to say something but his voice seemed caught in his throat. David tilted his head up and held a glass of water for him. He drank and looked up at him with so much love in his eyes, I felt like a voyeur.

"Thank you. All of you. Holmes." The dark eyes came to mine and I nodded. "Is this because of the letter?"

"Unknown. I have some feelers out now. We'll know more tomorrow." I try never to lie to my clients and especially not to my friends.

"Then, until we know, perhaps I was carrying a valuable book on my person from the Duke's collection. The small illuminated missal from the fifteenth century, perhaps." His voice died out and his eyes fluttered once.

"Excellent, Josiah. We can talk about that and fix our stories for the Inspector who will be here in the morning. For now, just rest and heal." I considered his suggestion and marveled at how quickly his mind had come back from the pain to think about future problems.

John joined me at the door and closed it behind us. He kissed me hard and I angled my head to better join our lips. It seemed like forever since we'd last connected and I drank him in like the fine white wine we'd had for dinner.

When we finally broke apart, he sighed. "I've been wanting to do that for hours now. I hope that David is doing the same to Josiah. His love will heal the pain faster than any of my potions. But I think a cup of white willow bark tea will help alleviate the soreness from the dislocation."

We moved to the kitchen and he put his black bag on the table while I moved the kettle to the stove after filling it at the sink. I began opening the cupboards to find the cups and took note of the orderly contents. Idly, I wondered if Mrs. Hudson's cupboards would look as well organized.

"I will need to stay the night, Sherlock but if you need to go out, I understand. Do you think we will need a diversion? Could the attack have been part of this whole espionage problem?" Watson stood with a small glass jar filled with dried bark in his hand.

"Speculation is useless until I have more facts. I have a cigar stub I need to dissect so I believe I will head back to Baker Street and my chemistry corner. There's a slight scent about it that's teasing my memory and I need my research notes." The work I'd done before publishing my monograph on tobacco was much more extensive than the 140 kinds that I wrote about. There was something about an oil that was used to treat the leaves in a foreign country . . .

"Holmes . . . Holmes." Watson was patiently trying to get my attention.

"I'm sorry, John. Is there anything I can bring you in the morning when I return?"

"Thank you. A clean shirt would be nice. How soon do you think we can expect the Inspector?"

"By 10 o'clock at the latest. You should probably have David bring up the missal so we have it here for him to see."

Watson frowned and poured the boiling water over the bark in the teapot. "Are we right to mislead the police as to the real reason they were attacked?"

"We do not know for sure just why they *were*." I replied. It is so hard for my honest lover to prevaricate. "Perhaps it was simply a random mugging of two prosperous looking gentlemen. Although the cigar stub shows that they may have waited for a while before choosing their victims. The espionage problem might have nothing to do with it. The rare book story will disconcert the real villain and waylay any suspicion. They will think that I'm chasing after a collector of some repute instead of them."

"Mycroft will be pleased." Watson laid two cups on the tray and picked it up to carry it into the sickroom. "He's even more secretive than you."

"With more reason, John. Sometimes the fate of empires rests in his hands." I held the door for him and he smiled, that bewilderingly beautiful smile that makes me unable to think for a moment or two after he bestows it on me.

"I prefer the personal touch, my love. You care for the individuals within the Empire. And I'm very grateful that you do. Take care tonight. I need to know you're as safe as you can be." He leaned over and kissed me gently, darting his tongue between my lips to taste and tease me. "There. That should bring you back nice and early to me."

"As soon as I can, John. Tell David, I have his keys and will let myself out and in again." I left him with regret for the necessary chores of my profession. Thinking quickly while I locked up behind me, I checked my pocket watch and decided that midnight was not too late to call on my brother.

It was two blocks before I could hail a hansom cab and I had him drop me off a distance from Mycroft's Pall Mall house so I could see if I was being followed. There was more than one way into his home including an underground tunnel that connected with an old Roman catacomb beneath a nearby church. But I could sense no one dogging my footsteps so this time I simply entered by the front door.

The butler greeted me with sang-froid, my brother must have the occasional odd visitor at all hours of the day and night. He directed me to my brother's study on the first floor and I tapped briefly before letting myself in.

"Sherlock. Developments so soon?" He spoke from behind his cherry wood desk, his head turned to watch me with only mild surprise on his craggy features.

He is not quite so corpulant and out of shape as Watson has portrayed him in his stories. Our metabolisms are similar but he has less chance to get out and about for he must be available to the leaders of our government at all times. Still, he is at the most, a stone heavier than I. We share the same height, gray eyes and hawk nose but his hair is lighter than mine or perhaps he is simply going gray faster. The responsibilities he undertakes might have something to do with that. And is why it seemed expedient to somewhat disguise his true appearance in Watson's tales.

"Perhaps, Mycroft. The Harbottles were attacked on their way home from dinner with Watson and I tonight." I settled myself in one of the chairs by the fire and my brother joined me after pressing a button on his desk.

"Indeed." He thought quickly, his eyes on the fire and the forefinger on his left hand traced a small circle on the tapestry fabric of the wingback's arm. "Insufficient data to extrapolate the reason."

"Sir?" The voice from the door raised my eyebrow.

"Join us, Stephen. Sherlock was just going to tell me of the attack on the Harbottles tonight."

"Goodness!" Wenton crossed the room and pulled up a straight back chair between us. "Are they all right?"

"Josiah had his shoulder dislocated but Watson was able to reset it. David was simply badly shaken. A constable arrived on the scene in time to chase away the three assailants. I found a cigar stub which may point a finger in one direction or another." My mind was racing at the implications of Wenton staying with my brother. Was there some reason Mycroft needed a bodyguard? Was this problem more fraught with danger than I had supposed?

"Thank heavens." The dark haired man leaned forward, his hands resting lightly on his knees. "Is it the fortification map? Have they put two and two together and think that the Harbottles are on to them?"

"Josiah suggests that a fifteenth century missal be put out for a suitable red herring. *If* . . . it was the missing map that was the cause of the attack, then the embassy may be lulled into a false state of calm." I put forth Josiah's offer.

"That will do quite nicely for now." Mycroft nodded once but then looked at Wenton with a lifted eyebrow. "Another thought?"

"Well, now that I've seen the divine David, I can think of one other reason Josiah might be put out of the way and the young man kidnapped." He smiled sheepishly at my brother and I caught the quirk of lips that usually passed for Mycroft's smile.

"Baron Hauptmann is known for his . . . varied tastes. If he's a long time customer of the Harbottles, then he already knows of David. It is possible that he is contemplating taking the map *and* a companion back to Germany with him." Mycroft's tones were dry.

"Then it would have to be upon Josiah's death. David would never willingly leave him." My own voice was emphatic. Their love was palpable to the meanest intelligence. "For the moment, they are both safe. Watson stayed with them and the police will keep a closer eye on that area. I have an appointment with an Inspector Greeling in the morning."

"Good. The missal will serve for a decoy and I will see about getting Stephen into the German Embassy on one pretext or another. They know he's one of our Special Branch people but that won't stop them from inviting him in so they can thumb their noses at him."

"It's what I'm best at, sir." Wenton grinned at us both and I felt an answering smile cross my face. He's very good at lightening spirits.

"On a darker note, Sherlock. The missing secretary has been found. An apparent suicide at Oxford. But if the scene is as the police report says, it was murder. I think there is no doubt he took the map to sell to our old adversary. Horse racing debts, I believe." Mycroft shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you. I need to get home and dissect the remains of a cigar. Do you have a copy of the police report I could read?" I rose and stretched briefly.

Mycroft nodded towards his desk and Wenton sprang up, crossing to the desk and getting it from the top left drawer. I took it from him and folded it into my inside pocket. Saying my goodbyes, I was already thinking ahead to the ramifications of some of the events that seemed to be racing towards a dramatic conclusion. As I left, I saw Wenton cross to the sideboard and pour Mycroft a glass of his favorite Lapsoing whiskey.

The trip home was brief. There is never any problem getting a hansom cab outside of Mycroft's. Comfortably ensconced in our rooms, I shrugged off my jacket and put on my old dressing gown. Seated at the old scarred table on which I'd done so much experimenting, I carefully dissected the cigar and made notes on what I'd found. Tasting a pinch of the leaves, I realized the aroma that had tantalized my nose was indeed opium of a particularly strong nature.

And yet, neither of the Harbottles had mentioned that any of the attackers were Oriental. Perhaps, the Turks were venturing into the criminal trade now. I smiled derisively at myself and got up to stretch. Wenton's suggestions about kidnapping had taken deeper hold than I thought.

Two a.m. Time for a few hours sleep in lieu of further facts to feed my mind. When I picked up my jacket, the crinkle of paper reminded me of the unread police report. Going back to the table where the lamp was still lit, I quickly read the whole thing and shook my head at the lack of imagination on the Oxford police department's part.

Leaving it by the decimated cigar, I smothered a yawn and headed for bed. For the first time in many weeks, Watson and I were sleeping apart and I found my bed less comfortable than I should. It took all my self control to discipline my thoughts to sleep.

********* Josiah ************

I awoke, moving briefly before I realized how nasty the pain was going to be. I ached from head to toe and my arm was throbbing along with the beat of my heart. The warm weight against me was familiar but on the wrong side. Turning my head, I saw David curled against me with one hand under his cheek and dark circles around his eyes.

Remembering the attack, I looked around and saw John nodding in the chair by our bed. Truly, I was blessed with wonderful friends. But right now, I needed to go to the bathroom and didn't think I could get up by myself. "David . . . my love."

"Josiah." His drowsy voice was music to my ears. His eyes opened slowly and I watched his memory return with a blink. He raised up and touched my cheek gently. "Are you in pain? Can I get you something?"

"The bathroom would be nice. The pain is . . . manageable if I don't move too quickly." I smiled up at him and he leaned over and kissed me tenderly.

"Better if you don't move at all, Josiah." John's professional voice came from the other side.

I turned my head slowly and felt his cool fingers at my wrist, taking my pulse. "I have a natural antipathy to bedpans, John. Besides, I have to move some time. It might as well be now."

"Then carefully. And you let both David and I help you." He admonished me and I ruefully acknowledged the need.

The next few moments were painful in the extreme but I survived to move slowly to the bathroom. David stayed with me, his body flattened against my back and his hands holding up my nightshirt. What a relief to empty myself of all the fluids of the night. I could feel his love surrounding me with his strength and I moved my free hand up to his, covering it and holding on.

"I love you, Josiah. Please, don't let's ever get held up again. If we have to take hansom cabs for the rest of our lives, we can save money somewhere else." His voice was muffled between my shoulder blades but I could hear the repressed tears in it.

Turning awkwardly, I tilted up his head to mine and kissed him gently. Feeling his lips tremble, I tasted his morning breath which is more strongly him. Ending the kiss with a nip to his lower lip, I pulled back a bit.

"Love, we are as safe as any in London. We can not hide away in the shop and never leave it. This has been a shock but we survived it in excellent form." I went to the sink to wash my hand and frowned. How do you wash a single hand?

"Here. Let me. While we're here, you can brush your teeth and then I'll shave you." He smiled tremulously up at me and turned the water on in the sink while reaching for my natural bristle brush and the soda. I started brushing away the night's fuzz. "I don't know what Mrs. Green will say when she comes. If I were you, I'd be prepared to be cosseted to within an inch of your life." He shivered at his own words before shaking off his fear. I spit out the cleanser and rinsed away the left over taste.

Soaping my cheeks, he readied the straight razor. He always loved shaving me so I leaned against the sink, watching the steel razor clean my cheeks and chin of their overnight growth. He has a steady hand and it did feel very much better to be so freshened. But I was growing tired and he sensed my fatigue, finishing with a warm towel moistened in the water.

We made our way back to the bedroom where John waited with another cup of the herbal tea that had sent me to sleep the night before. I settled in with a sigh of relief. Perhaps the next time, I would accept the indignity of the bedpan. Really, that short trip had exhausted me beyond all expectations.

"You must give your body time to heal, Josiah." John read my mind with uncanny facileness. "That was your one trip of the day. When the Inspector comes, he can interview you here."

"Mrs. Green, our daily help, will be here in another half hour. She and I can tidy up the bedroom before he comes." David was tucking me in gently, making sure I was quite comfortable.

"Good. Perhaps she'd be willing to make us all some breakfast." John's head turned to the sitting room. "Ah, there's Holmes. I'll just go out and see how his investigations are coming." He exited quickly and I smiled at his eagerness to greet his lover. 

I caught David's hand and pulled him down beside me. "Alone at last. Have I told you I love you, today?"

He curled up beside me and breathed against my lips before gently parting them and slipping back inside. We rubbed our tongues languidly together and just enjoyed the feeling of closeness. My shoulder was beginning to ache abominably and although I tried to hide it, my lover knows me too well.

He pulled away and picked up the cooling cup of tea. "Josiah, you will drink this and tell me immediately, if the pain grows again. Yes?"

I smiled at the hint of steel in his voice. He takes very good care of me. "Yes, my love. I won't hide it from you. I promise."

His own smile peeped out briefly before helping me drink my tea. Not an unpleasant taste but it did make me sleepy. I dozed while listening to David get dressed for the day. Occasionally, I'd open my eyes to watch him button his trousers or fasten his cuffs. Oddly enough, I find his dressing to be as erotic as his *un*dressing. Perhaps because I am the only one who gets to see either action.

David kissed me gently before he joined the low voices in the outer room. I listened half heartedly before falling back into a fitful doze. So long as I didn't move, my shoulder just ached. I was usually a restless sleeper but the pillow prevented me from rolling onto my side and wrenching the joint further.

The click of the door startled me awake from a particularly gruesome dream of being in a dank cellar with something dripping on me. Mrs. Green poked her head around the door and caught my eye.

"There you are, ducks. 'Ow about a bit of breakfast? Just a scone or two with a rasher of bacon to build up your bones." Her cockney accent always made me smile.

"That would be wonderful, Mrs. Green. And maybe some real tea, instead of this herbal brew that Dr. Watson has me drinking?" I coaxed.

"We'll 'ave to see about that. The good doctor 'as the last word when it comes to your 'ealth, ducks. Ever such a nice man." She disappeared for a minute then came back with a loaded tray. "And *such* a gent. Asking me for my opinion about the proper victuals for you."

Deftly, she propped me up with another pillow and laid the tray to one side so it wouldn't impede my bound arm. She had nursed a dozen relatives over the years and we had heard about each and every one of them. She had a napkin tucked into the neck of my nightshirt and a buttered scone on my hand before I knew it.

"Nosh on that, dearie and I'll go see if you can have some tea." And she whisked out of the room with a flip of her navy blue skirts.

Smiling, I listened for the voices in the other room but heard nothing. *Where could they be? In the shop?* I chewed slowly, savoring the simple pleasures of butter and honey on a light-as-air scone of Mrs. Green's baking while my brain teased at the problem of why I'd suddenly been abandoned to the tender care of our help.

I was chewing a nice thick slice of bacon when the door slowly inched open and David's head peeked around the corner. "Oh, you're awake. And eating." 

His smile could light the room even if the morning sun wasn't doing its best through the pulled curtains. He came in and closed the door behind him. "The Inspector is here. He and Holmes are reconstructing the attack. I have the missal here." 

He laid the little gem of the Duke's collection on the bed side table. The white leather cover gleamed as clean and fresh as the day it was laid in the original Duchess' hands. Loving hands had oiled it and kept it safely in a satin lined leather box safe in her private chapel. But the current Duke despised it for its Catholic origins and had dismissed it as Papish rubbish.

"Good. It will make an excellent red herring for the police while Holmes investigates for us. Did he say anything about what he's done so far?" I picked up another scone and he leaned over the tray from his seat on the edge of the bed, licking the corner of my mouth.

"You missed a crumb." He smiled impishly at me and for a moment seemed to forget what had happened. Then his glow dimmed and he nodded. "He dissected the cigar stub from the alley and found it doused with opium. They weren't Orientals, were they?"

I cast my thoughts back over the memories of the night before. "No. I would have said ordinary Londoners. Just average in appearance and dress."

A knock on the door interrupted my breakfast. "Josiah, are you awake?" John entered and shut the door firmly behind him. "Inspector Greeling is here with some questions. Good, you've managed to eat something. I must say your Mrs. Green has a very light hand with her scones. Finish that and we'll have the young man in. Holmes paid him the great compliment of approving of his questions. A most perspicacious gentleman for a policeman."

David and he tidied the place of all extraneous objects while I placidly finished the last rasher of bacon, listening to his comments on the Inspector. David wiped my mouth and hand with the napkin from the tray, clucking at the grease from the butter.

"You could always lick it clean." I said very quietly while John went to the door to invite the policeman in. He blushed and threw me an admonishing look.

"Inspector Greeling. Please come in." 

************************


	12. Strategy

*********** Sherlock **************

Really, I was quite pleased with the demeanor of Inspector Greeling when he gently but searchingly questioned the Harbottles. He was alert and polite. It was certainly not his fault our red herring proved so interesting to him that he was soon on the trail of nonexistent thieves. I regretted that but we still didn't know exactly why they had been attacked and I couldn't take a chance on compromising the Government's security.

I gave him my research on the opium impregnated cigar stub but let him draw his own conclusions. That they were erroneous was not my fault, I gave him all the facts I knew and he had the descriptions of the hoodlums from the Harbottles. He bowed out quite quickly after Josiah began to look fatigued and John began to utter his physician's warnings. I showed the Inspector out while David hovered over his wounded companion and Watson gravely took his pulse.

We had much to do if we were to unravel the tangled web of intrigue in which we found ourselves. I had already prevailed on Professor Menton to loan me young Hawkins for the next few days and he had taken his place in the book store, working with Alfred since David would not leave Josiah. 

While in the workroom, I overheard Wenton's drawling voice ask for Josiah. Pretending amazement of the news of the attack, he feigned great concern and asked for David instead. Just then, the front door bell tinkled again and I heard the deep tones of Baron von Hauptmann. Hawkins came through to the back and I quietly asked him to send David down. I didn't want to miss a single remark between the two games-players in the front room. All the actors in our drama had come together.

"My dear Wenton, back from Berlin, I see. How could you bear to leave my fair city?" 

"Baron. How nice to see you again." Wenton's suave tones reached me easily from where I stood by the half open door. "Just got back two days ago and am already pining for the Continent. But I missed my favorite bookstore so much, I just had to drop in and see if they have anything new. And I find they were attacked last night and poor Josiah was wounded. Such a crime would certainly never have occurred in Berlin."

"How appalling." The Baron sounded shocked. "You're quite right. The police would never allow such a blatant abuse of our citizens. I hope he is going to be all right?"

"I've just asked if David is available. Perhaps, he can tell us more. What brings you in, my dear Baron? What collecting bug has bitten you now?" Wenton teased him familiarly in a way, I could never hope to mimic.

"The Harbottles' catalog just arrived, filled with some wonderful items from the Duke of Hereford's collection. I am determined to be the successful bidder for an item or two. I didn't realize you were also a frequent visitor here." The Baron's drawl grated on my ears.

I retreated to the foot of the stairs to intercept David. In just a moment, he came soundlessly down the steps with Hawkins on his heels. "David, Stephen Wenton and the Baron are both here. I think it would be interesting if you and young Wenton appeared to be long time friends."

He nodded gravely. "Yes, I can do that. But they are *not* seeing Josiah. He's in too much pain."

"Understood." I approved of his protective instinct. 

"Would you like to watch the outer room when I go out?" David crossed quietly to the wall and pulled open a cupboard door. He beckoned us over and Hawkins was right on my heels when I joined the young book seller.

An odd arrangement of mirrors greeted my eyes and I quickly sorted out the concept. How ingenious it was. I could see the three men plainly. Alfred stood patiently behind the counter while Stephen leaned against it watching the Baron move his cane from hand to hand, his gray gloves light against the ebony wood. David touched my arm and I signaled him to leave the door ajar.

He nodded once and I watched him take a deep breath, slowly letting it out. His chin went up and a very good imitation of his usual smile crossed his lips. I held onto Hawkins, letting David go out alone to his waiting audience. For some reason, I kept seeing this whole adventure as a play with all of us merely actors upon the great stage that is London.

Looking at the mirrored images of the front room, part of my mind calculated the placement of the mirror in the shop that was reflecting the men to Hawkins and me while the greater part of my brain put the words and the pictures together.

"Stephen, how good of you to come. Josiah is resting now with Uncle John to look after him." David put his hand affectionately on Wenton's sleeve, looking up at him through his long dark lashes and I watched my brother's agent pat his hand with an indulgent smile.

"Of course, I came. I'm sorry something so shocking had to happen to my favorite book sellers. Was it a theft of some kind?"

"I'm sorry, Baron von Hauptmann. I did not mean to ignore you." The brief smile he bestowed on the broad shouldered man was a masterpiece of shyness. "It seems it might have been an attempt to steal one of the gems of the late Duke's collection. A fifteenth century missal that Josiah was carrying to show to one of our customers."

"Not something to my taste but quite valuable it seems, Mr. Harbottle." The Baron was now leaning slightly forward, balanced on his walking stick and I wondered if it concealed a sword. I would not have been surprised. "But they did not get it, I hope?"

I listened intently but young David gave them a stirring account of the attack along with the entirely fictitious story of afterwards. The Baron stiffened when he heard that I was on the case but I saw him relax when he heard David blushingly admit that it was only because 'Uncle John' had asked me to look into it. If ever that young man decides to go on the stage, he will make his fortune. 

Quietly, I gave Hawkins a few brief instructions and sent him out to the front. Watching intently, I heard him cough and tell Wenton that Josiah had expressed an interest in seeing him. David handled the unexpected request beautifully, hesitating only a moment before sending Wenton out of the room. Alfred was helping another customer so I watched intently while Stephen arrived to peer over my shoulder.

"Well, it is a sad and anxious time, young man. But I came in hopes of securing a few of your titles for my collection." The Baron dipped into his pocket and brought out his copy of their catalog. "I've marked the ones I'd be interested in seeing. Unfortunately, I have no time today. Perhaps, I could prevail upon you to bring the ones I've marked to the Embassy tomorrow evening."

David took the proffered catalog and bent his fair head over the pages while I watched the Baron's face. For a brief moment a twisted look of lust crossed the fine hewed features, turning them into a Dionysian mask of lechery. I heard Wenton suppress a gasp and felt a chill run up my own spine while I processed this new information. It appeared there were treacherous cross currents to be found in these dark waters.

"Certainly, sir. When would be a convenient time for you?" David raised those innocent blue eyes to the Baron's own dark gaze and smiled again shyly.

"Nine would be just right and I promise to see you have an escort home again. No taking chances with your safety, my dear boy." He made his small joke and watched David's blush with a rather gloating smile.

"That would be most appreciated, Baron von Hauptmann. But I will be fine." His bravery was palpable, even through the medium of a silvered mirror. "Then, I will see you tomorrow night, sir. With the books you've marked."

"Excellent. Please give my best wishes for a speedy recovery to your cousin. Until tomorrow." He bowed in the Continental manner and shook David's slender hand lingeringly before making his way out of the store.

"Hawkins, back to your post and send Harbottle back again, please." I stood upright with a slight stretch and felt Wenton shift away from my shoulder.

"Well, that was enlightening. I was not being completely serious last night but it seems I was right on the money. I think young Harbottle should have an escort both to and from the Embassy tomorrow night." Wenton's voice was as serious as I've ever heard.

David's entrance forestalled any reply I might have made. We all three went up the stairs to their living quarters where David made a beeline for the bedroom with a murmured apology. John came out almost instantly and I had a brief glimpse of the young man with his face buried in Josiah's good shoulder.

"Good to see you, Wenton. I take it something has happened?" Watson gestured towards the settee and I paced slowly while they took a seat. I was feeling rather unsettled, fighting my own urge to gather John into an embrace. "Mrs. Green has gone out to the shops so we are quite private."

Wenton spoke up. "The Baron has tickets for the Dover packet at 6 a.m. in two days. He'll be taking two servants with him and four trunks, *two* of which will be traveling with him in his cabin." His blue eyes, so like Watson's, gazed solemnly at me and I quickly saw his point. The crossing was only a few hours. Why would he need two trunks unless one of them held a fragile cargo. 

John looked in bewilderment between us. I quickly explained how we'd been able to watch and eavesdrop on the shop. I was not prepared however, for the surge of anger that crossed Watson's face when I spoke of the lustful look the Baron had bestowed on young David.

"What! He's *not* going." Watson sprang to his feet and matched my pacing with a few quick steps of his own. "I will never allow him to be so used again. It would kill them both."

I stilled him with a touch, watching those stormy eyes slowly begin to calm. "I promise nothing will harm him, Watson. We will find a way for Wenton and I to both be present. I give you my word."

He took a deep breath and began to answer but the opening of the bedroom door interrupted him. David stood there, smiling faintly. "Please. Would all of you come in to Josiah? He wants to speak to you."

Wenton joined us and we entered the sick room to find Josiah propped on several pillows. The window must have just been closed for the air was clean and fresh but only slightly chilled. There was no sign this was a sickroom except for the bandages that wrapped Josiah's left shoulder. David perched on the edge of the bed, his hand going unerringly to his lover's and his eyes never leaving the calm face.

"Now, I know about the Baron's request and how David feels about it. What I need to know is why John is so upset, he actually raised his voice?" Josiah smiled at Watson's sudden blush.

So, once again I explained what we'd seen that David had not. He sighed and looked affectionately at the bowed blond head. "We have been aware for some time that the Baron has had certain . . . desires but we've always been able to keep them on the correct side of propriety. It seems that has come to an end. What we really need to know is why now and does it have anything to do with your missing documents?"

Wenton went rigid and I drew a quick breath to forestall what would probably be an accusation of impropriety on my part. But Josiah just laughed and shook his head. "Calm yourself, Wenton. Neither Holmes or Watson have said anything to us. But grant us the courtesy of being able to put two and two together to come up with four."

My brother's agent relaxed and chuckled. "Yes, all right, Harbottle. We are missing a map of the fortifications of the entire southern coast. It should have been impossible to steal, being in three parts and closely guarded. But one of the aides figured out a way to copy all of them and they appear to be in the Baron's hands. Which means they will be on their way to Germany in two days unless we can stop them."

"That won't happen." I was firm in my knowledge of what we could do. "We shall utilize the red herring we have given the Baron and send Wenton in with David to forestall any attempt while they are in the Embassy. If we have to ring the building with policemen to ensure David's safety, then that is what we will do."

"By tomorrow night, I will be able to go myself." Josiah spoke calmly and withstood the immediate firestorm of protests from both David and John. He waited for them to list all the reasons why he could not and then firmly repeated his statement, adding an addendum that immediately stilled their protests. "The Baron and I have a small score to settle. I have always disliked being taken for a fool. David, would you mind seeing if tea is ready? Perhaps, John could help you?"

His calm, steady voice sent them both out of the room with only one backward look from the young man with the fearful blue eyes. When the door was shut behind them, he sent a level look to me. "There is something you are not telling us, Holmes."

I hesitated only a moment. "The porters have been told to place two of his trunks in his cabin."

For a moment, a fire blazed in his dark eyes and his jaw tightened while he made the same connection which I had already made, but all he said was, "Then I shall go armed."

"We all shall. David's safety will be our paramount concern but the map must also be found and secured. The Baron must leave empty handed." My statement brought nods from both my companions and we settled in for a strategy session after bringing in some chairs from the dining room.

An hour later, our plans were in place and I accompanied Wenton to the back door with a brief request he tell Mycroft everything that had occurred. He just smiled and quipped that he always did, before exiting. Something nudged my mind again about my visit the night before but when I heard Watson's voice behind me, I lost that train of thought.

"Holmes, Mrs. Green shall be returning shortly and staying the night. I will not be needed. *Here*." His blue eyes sparkled into mine and my stomach fluttered in anticipation. "What say we go home to our own fire and one of Mrs. Hudson's high teas? And perhaps an early night?"

"An excellent idea, Watson. You must be exhausted with your good care of Josiah." I teased him in my fashion and watched his eyes go quite sultry while his lips pursed slightly.

"Not that exhausted, Sherlock." His whisper sent a shiver up my spine and I thought blissfully of the night to come.

We said our goodbyes shortly after Mrs. Green returned and I took away the picture of the fair David stroking Josiah's hand while she told them in no uncertain terms just what they'd be eating for dinner that night. I rather expected they would do as they were told. I think I would have.

Watson and I were silent on the trip home. I know I was planning ahead to the morrow and all the coordination we would need with the Special Branch my brother heads. I really did not want to bring the police into this maze of deception, in case there were repercussions on the government level. It is a sad truth that in the political sphere sometimes the truth must be obscured.

I also wondered if any of my telegrams had produced results and rather looked forward to reading the replies. I mused on whether or not Inspector Greeling was getting anywhere and if he might not stumble on something that would help us. 

"Holmes, we're here." Watson's voice roused me from my reverie.

Mrs. Hudson made much of us while taking our coats and promised us a high tea which would keep us from imminent starvation. She took our order for hot water for our baths with a willing sigh. I found myself smiling while we climbed the seventeen steps to our rooms. Watson busied himself refilling his bag with supplies while I started the fire. Shrugging out of my jacket, I pulled on my comfortable old dressing gown.

I read the replies to my telegrams while pondering what little information they gave me. This plan had been kept very secret from all of my usual sources. Watson's arms came around my waist and hugged me to him with gentle passion. His lips were warm against my neck and I felt myself relax for the first time in almost a day. "It is heaven to be home, my dear Sherlock. I think an early night is in order. It has been days since I've worshiped your body."

I could feel the blush flow upward at his words. My hands covered his and I turned just enough to see him. His eyes glowed in the firelight and I felt his inner fire reach out to mine. "I am the one who needs to touch you, John. It was never this hard before we became lovers. I seem to have lost my taste for solitary pursuits. I slept very badly this morning without you to hold."

He pulled away with a sigh at the sound of the tea tray approaching. "Tonight will *not* be solitary, my dearest friend. And we shall sleep very well indeed."

Tea was excellent as always and we praised our good housekeeper, not sparing her blushes. Kathleen was already bringing up the large covered pails of heated water and I mentioned to Mrs. Hudson the ingenious hot water boiler that the Harbottles had installed in their bathing room. She expressed doubt at the safety of the device but promised to think about it.

By the third trip up the stairs, I think Kathleen was quite ready to install the boiler herself. She was apt to be our greatest advocate when it came time to consider the alteration. Curtsying at the door, she indicated that the bath was ready. Watson thanked her gently and carefully locked the door behind her. Leaning against it, he contemplated my sprawl by the fire with a laughing eye.

"Well, my dear Sherlock. In the interests of *both* of us having a hot bath, I propose we share. That way I can be sure the small spot on my back, which I can't reach, gets well scrubbed."

"By all means, John. I, too, seem to have a little trouble reaching." I began my undressing with the removal of my collar while I moved towards the small porcelain chamber of which polite society never spoke. John joined me and we rapidly undressed, hanging our clothes on the hooks provided. 

The room was chilly and I pondered the addition of a radiator when we installed the water boiler. The plumbers knowledge that I'd studied for one of my investigations came in handy while I decided where the pipes would go and whether or not we'd have to move the large claw footed bathtub ninety degrees. 

"What in the world are you contemplating, Sherlock?" The sound of John's voice broke through my reverie and I discovered he'd already taken his ease in the long tub, leaning against the slanted back and holding out his hand to usher me in between his legs.

He is quite beautiful in the flickering light of the oil lamps. He's already ducked himself and his fair hair looks quite dark plastered against his shapely skull. I wonder if he would appreciate that complement and climb into the hot steamy water with a hiss of delight. John arranges me to his satisfaction and I soon feel the bath sponge begin to soap my chest.

"You are beautiful when you are wet, John." Settling my head on my companion's shoulder, I prepare to be pampered. He is very good at it and I have learned to do more than just accept it. Indeed, I relish these moments when he focuses completely on me. 

"Ah, that is very nice to hear, Sherlock." He nuzzles my ear lobe while he washes my left arm with great care. "I feel much the same way about you. Your skin gleams like ivory under the soap bubbles. And I love the way your nipples peak when I run the sponge over them. Not to mention the little ripples in your muscles when I wash your stomach."

I was already moving restlessly under the sponge he was wielding so effectively. Each stroke caused me to harden a little more and when he shifted just a little, I could feel a tremble start deep inside of me. His cock was nestled between my nether cheeks and my movements were swelling him to larger proportions. This particular caress still made me feel a little unsure but my curiosity was overtaking my fear and I made the decision to explore the possibilities a little more.

Undulating just a little, I flexed my buttocks and heard John moan softly. He kept running the sponge over my groin with gentle strokes, teasing me with the too soft touch. "John . . . please."

His chuckle under my ear reminded me of just who was in charge of this bath and I relaxed again except for my own teasing flexes around his cock. But when he abandoned the sponge in favor of a soap slickened hand, I couldn't help but thrust into his knowing grip. It all felt so very good, I groaned with expectation. His fingers knew just where to press and his thumb gently circled the head with an expertise that reduced me to jelly.

I was panting now, the sound echoing through the bath chamber. His cock was sliding back and forth across the nerve endings between my cheeks, sometimes bumping up against my swollen balls but always returning to the perineum and the cluster of nerves sending such jolts to my brain. The anatomy texts had been most useful in naming all the parts and why they worked the way they did.

What they couldn't do was explain the complete and utter joy of stimulation, the knowledge that it was John's cock that stroked so surely across my sensitive skin and his hand that was fast bringing me to a shattering climax. When he bit my ear lobe, it was all over for me. I shuddered into his hands, clamping around his organ like a vise and wringing his release from him.

Twin moans echoed softly through the room and I floated boneless in the now cloudy water with only his arms to hold me safe. The water had begun to cool when we finally stirred from our comfortable womb. Drying took long moments since John insisted on drying me and I was quick to return the favor. My skin tingled everywhere he rubbed the cotton bath sheet and I took great delight in stroking a rosy blush to his sturdy legs.

We chose my bed to sleep in and settling in with a sigh, I thought of the night before when all I did was fall asleep without a warm lover to cradle in my arms. This was much preferred, I decided lazily. Our satiated cocks nestled together while our legs intertwined. The weight of his head on my shoulder was completely satisfying and I tightened my hold on him.

"Holmes, David will be all right tomorrow, won't he? I could not bear to see him hurt. Or Josiah either." His warm breath puffed against my skin. 

"We will do our very best to ensure their safety. In fact, if we can finagle a way for Wenton to be there all ready, I think that you might escort them. Doctor's orders and all that." My thoughts raced through the different scenarios, wishing on one hand that he should stay far away from any danger, yet understanding his need to protect his friends.

"With my doctor's kit in one hand and my trusty revolver in my pocket?" He raised his head and I saw his eyes glitter with sudden humor in the dying firelight.

"But of course, John. You're the only one I know who can wound an opponent and repair him at the same time." I teased him back.

"Ah, what it is to have a reputation." He laid his head back down and I felt him yawn. "And you will be there in disguise. I *have* noticed you keep shunting conversation away from how you would be there. But then you enjoy surprising me, don't you?"

"Oh dear, John, you have seen through my natural shyness and dislike of the limelight, straight to my plan." I waited for his chuckles to die away. I am a vain creature, delighting in my little charades and disguises, all for his benefit. "But it shall be a surprise for you as well as for the others. Now, go to sleep so you can wake me in the morning with one of your voluptuous kisses."

He kissed my skin beneath his cheek and I felt him smile. "That is not all I shall awaken you with, my dearest friend. I may have a surprise for you as well."

I hugged him a little tighter. "I shall look forward to it, John. Sleep well."

"Always sleep well in your arms, Sherlock." Another yawn and I felt him settle into slumber. 

Turning off my brain and it's need to go over the plans we'd made just one more time, I followed him into a dreamless sleep.

*********************


	13. Preparations

********** Josiah ***********

I came awake with a start, the soft moan at my side tensing all my muscles. David was whimpering, caught in the tentacles of a nightmare. I pulled him closer only to have him flinch away. Getting a firm hold on my own fearful feelings, for I thought we'd left behind the bad dreams years ago, I called his name gently.

He awakened with a small cry and for a moment, the eyes of a stranger looked out at me. Then recognition set in and they were again the innocent azure blue of my friend and lover. "Josiah."

"David. What nightmare was it that took you so far away from me?" I asked him.

Shuddering, he buried his face in my shoulder and held on tightly. "The same one I used to have when first I came to you. He's there, holding me and hurting me. Laughing so cruelly. And I can't get away from him. I just want to die and have it over with."

The 'He' was his last client at the whorehouse, who'd broken his wrist and raped him before throwing him out of the window in the blinding snowstorm. We'd never discovered who it was and I hated knowing that somewhere in London was the man who had so tortured my lover, walking around free to hurt others.

Gentling a kiss onto his fair hair, I sighed. "I wish I could take these memories from you, David. Erase them forever and give you peace."

Raising his head, he presented me with a rather watery smile. "But you do, Josiah. Every time we make love, a little more fades away. The Baron reminds me of Him a bit, I think. So, this whole masquerade must be bringing up the old memories to haunt my dreams. Once it's over, they will go away again."

And with that, he kissed me. A fervent kiss, filled with all his love and devotion. For the first time since the attack, I felt my manhood stir. He must have felt it too for his hand snaked down to my groin and caressed the turgid shaft into lifting for him. Breaking off the kiss, he grinned delightedly at me and ducked under the covers.

"David!" I tried to keep my voice low since I'd heard sounds from the drawing room. But he paid me no heed, instead he nibbled my shaft to a state of hardness I hadn't felt for days. His hot, moist mouth engulfed me to the root and I grabbed his pillow to cover my face.

Without sight or sound to distract me, I could concentrate on the tingles of lightning arcing through my body with such intensity. My whole body felt alive instead of half numb from the aftereffects of the attack and all the herbal potions for healing. This wholehearted assault on my body was much more pleasurable and I twitched with each successive caress.

His agile fingers cupped the sac beneath my cock and gently rolled the twin globes back and forth. The pleasure was excruciatingly good while he mouthed my cock and took it deep into his throat with a swallow that almost destroyed me. I pushed back the covers so he could breathe. My hand found his head and I threaded my fingers through the silken locks in a soothing caress.

But soothing was not what he was after and I quickly found myself thrusting up into the voracious mouth while he tongued and teased me into release. I pulsed forever, it seemed. Safe, in his keeping, his lips sucking my essences from me. Removing the pillow, I took in deep breaths that filled my febrile lungs with clean fresh air. He finally stopped and his head was pillowed on my upper leg while he stroked the inner skin of my thigh.

"Come up here, Imp." My voice was hoarse and his eyes turned to me with concern.

"Did I hurt your shoulder?" He sat up abruptly and looked anxiously at me.

"No, my love. You didn't hurt me at all." I drew him up further and further until he was crouched by my shoulder. "Lean over me so I don't strain my neck. You can not be so cruel as to make me do without my favorite morning beverage."

He laughed shakily and carefully stretched over me like the sleek cat I sometimes compare him to. He was painfully swollen and I knew it would not take much stimulation before he would release. Tonguing the small slit free of the first drops, I pulled him closer with my good hand. Coaxing him to use my mouth for his own pleasure, I took him in as deep as I could and sucked gently.

He only managed three strokes before he erupted into my waiting throat. Shuddering in his relief, he held himself up with difficulty from collapsing onto me. Ever careful of my shoulder, he moved back to my good side and cuddled close, our mouths sharing the exotic taste of each other. Indeed, my favorite way to wake up in all the world.

Pulling away just far enough so I could see his eyes, I made him a promise, choosing my words carefully. "We will both come back from this adventure. We have many more years of loving to which we can look forward. Trust in Holmes and Watson to see us through this safely. The Baron doesn't stand a chance against us."

A small fear still lurked in the wide eyed gaze but he nodded anyway. His bravery is as much a part of him as his sweetness. "I know, Josiah. But after this is over could we please take a week in the country so you can recuperate fully?"

"Agreed, little one. Good country air and inspired lovemaking will put me to rights in a thrice." I smiled at him and we kissed again tenderly before he got up to close the window and put on his robe to go to see to breakfast.

My shoulder ached a bit but the pain was gone and I managed to hitch myself up a bit after thrusting David's pillow behind me as well. I flexed my left hand and instead of pain, I felt the tug of unused muscles. If I worked on stretching it today, I should have some mobility by this evening.

I could feel the frown on my face and hastily rearranged my features into a more pleasant smile. It wouldn't do to let David see my own fear. If I had been feeling one hundred percent, I would not be so worried about being able to protect him. Oddly enough, I had no fears about myself. It truly is more frightening to have your loved one in danger than to go into danger yourself.

And the Baron posed a threat to both of us. His ruthless plan to maim or kill me and steal David showed he would stop at nothing to possess my lover. I hadn't forgotten the government document he had already stolen but that was Wenton's first focus not mine. I would go armed and if need be, I would kill.

The Baron was an amateur in ruthlessness when compared to a lover protecting his heart and soul.

******* Sherlock *********

The cables that kept being delivered to 221B, focused all my attention on the business at hand. Watson took a quick round of his patients, ending with Josiah and David. He brought word the bookseller was much better and would be able to attend this evening's confrontation.

The ends of this puzzle were coming together and when Wenton came at the same time as our mid day meal, he brought the last piece I needed to plan the attack on the German Embassy. He shared our meal of shepherd's pie and regaled us with stories from his sojourn in Berlin. John enjoyed them immensely and I thought again that for our anniversary, he would enjoy a trip south to foreign lands.

"I say, Holmes, I've got an invitation to dinner at the Embassy so I'll be there when the Harbottles arrive." Wenton beamed at us and I acknowledged his accomplishment with a faint smile.

"That makes our team complete since I will be accompanying them as well." Watson reminded me of my statement of the night before and I nodded, hiding my twinge of disquiet. He is too brave for my peace of mind.

"Yes, we shall all be present. Any word about where he is likely to have hidden the map?" I asked Wenton while pouring him more tea.

"He's a bit of a puzzle enthusiast. I had a look at the books he wants David to bring tonight and several of them are on the history of games. Including one about the ancient game of dominoes. It may be in a puzzle box, of which he has quite a large collection. If it was transferred to onion skin paper, it could be rolled up quite small and secreted almost anywhere."

"And yet, he is a very careful man who tends to keep his treasures close to him." I was thinking of the trunks which were to be placed in his cabin for the crossing. Which would *not* be holding young David if I had anything to say about it. "We will have a short amount of time to relieve him of the map before his diplomatic immunity forces us to let him go on his way."

Watson frowned. "You will figure it out in time, Holmes. I have every confidence in you. I am more worried about Josiah and David. If the Baron has his bully boys there, Josiah could be hurt again."

"Just how far do you think his interest in David has gone, Watson?" Wenton swirled his tea gently in the china cup, his green eyes staring speculatively at the good doctor.

"If he's prepared to hire three men to kidnap him and kill or incapacitate Josiah, then I would say it has gone beyond interest into obsession. The map is important to his country but he is putting it in jeopardy by continuing his crusade to take David with him. That is not healthy behavior in any aspect and it appears to be affecting his judgement." John spoke judiciously, his lips pursed slightly in thought.

Disgracefully, all I could think of at that moment was stilling those lips with my own and bringing a smile to the beloved features. But with a fierce reining in of my libido, I brought my attention back to the discussion at hand. 

"Perhaps we can use this obsession to our advantage." Wenton suggested just ahead of my own idea. Really, he was quick witted to a high degree.

"Agreed. We shall ask David to provide the distraction we need for our search." I reentered the discussion.

Watson looked at both of us rather fiercely. "Only with his permission. I don't want to bring back the nightmares he suffered from so long ago."

Wenton's gaze went back and forth between us, his mind picking up the clues with which we were littering our conversation. "Last night it seemed as if the two of them were determined to help."

"Josiah's first thought will be for David's safety which will leave the map finding to us. If we are very careful, both our objectives can be achieved without undue violence. Although, I suggest we all go armed tonight." I spoke to Wenton but I could see John taking in my advice as well.

"Very well, Holmes. Any last instructions before the curtain goes up on our drama tonight?" Wenton arose from the table with a raised eyebrow.

Interesting that he also saw this entire operation as a play within a play. "Not at the moment. If I think of anything, I'll send word to my brother."

"All right. Until tonight, gentlemen. I'll give my compliments to your housekeeper on my way out." Wenton saluted us with a smile before leaving.

Kathleen came almost immediately to clear the dishes away and Watson went upstairs to get his revolver for cleaning. I sat down and wrote up my notes about the operation to come. It would be a few hours until I could assume my role for the evening. The makeup was arduous in the extreme, especially since the Embassy would be on the alert. The Baron would leave nothing to chance and reports had already reached me that the security had been doubled under the guise of preparations for his trip.

"Sherlock." John's gentle voice broke through my introspection.

"Yes, John." I looked up from my desk to find him laying down his freshly serviced Smith-Webley onto the morning paper with which he'd protected the table top. More time had passed than I'd thought.

"You will go armed tonight. Surely your disguise has a place for your pistol?" His blue eyes shone with anxious fervor.

"Not to worry, Watson. I do indeed have room for protection." Crossing the room to the safe, I pulled forth a gun I'd picked up on my travels abroad. Handing it to my friend, I watched him examine it carefully.

"A Colt Lightning, Holmes? Where ever did you pick this up?" He sighted along the barrel at an imaginary target against the far wall. ".41 caliber?"

"Yes, Watson. While I was in South Africa for a short while, I bought it off of a down-on-his-luck American. It proved to be just what was needed on several occasions while I was traveling in out of the way trouble spots. One of these days, we'll try some target shooting at Mycroft's gun club on the Thames. You can see which you prefer."

"I'll take you up on that, Holmes. How soon before you must go off to assume your disguise?" He laid down my revolver next to his own and looked up inquiringly.

"An hour or so. I'll be using one of my safe houses." Referring to one of six properties I leased in different parts of London. He nodded and rose beside me.

"Then we have plenty of time." His eyes twinkled at me and I'm afraid I looked rather bewildered. But once his mouth covered my own, my higher brain functions went abruptly elsewhere. All I could feel was the heat of his tongue twining about my own and the lovely softness of his lips pressed against mine.

When he drew away, we were both short of breath. His smile was gentle and he drew me to my bedroom door, pausing only to be sure the sitting room door was locked. "Plenty of time for us to make warm . . . passionate love to each other. Consider it armor for the conflict to come."

We undressed slowly, our eyes intent on each other. He paused when I removed my shirt, coming close to gentle a kiss to my left nipple. I returned the favor when his crisp linen shirt hit the fireside chair, except I chose the scar on his shoulder which had started my unraveling so many months ago.

Finally, we were naked and stretched out on the cool sheets. His weight was heavy against my side and I welcomed the sweet heat of him, warming me with his fire. His mouth skimmed across my flesh trailing flames behind his searching lips. Arching into him, I kneaded his shoulders with a silent plea for those lips to travel just a little further.

I shuddered when his chin nuzzled my rising shaft, right before his teeth nibbled up the tender flesh to lave the swollen head. He tongued the sensitive slit free of the clear drop that leaked out and my eyes closed at the sensation. All the better to concentrate on the exquisite feelings he evoked with his talented tongue and the delicate suction that threatened to drive me straight into release. His healing hands were now instruments he used skillfully to torment my aching nipples to hardened peaks while my body arched beneath his loving attack.

My hand went unerringly to his face so I could feel his cheeks hollow with the effort to coax me into climax. The tension in my body that always comes right before the denouement of a case was magnified a hundredfold by his actions. I writhed beneath his strength and single minded determination while he took me in deep, swallowing and setting off earthquakes in my body.

The spring was finally wound too tightly and I released into his waiting mouth with a strangled moan, dimly aware it was the middle of the afternoon and I should be quiet. Panting, I came down from the heights to which John always takes me and managed to open my eyes to watch him suckle gently on my spent shaft. Such a sight still makes me sigh in disbelief that we have come so far.

"Holmes, you look at me as if I were a dream that can not possibly come true." He moved up my body slowly, his chest hair tickling my sensitive skin to new life. Tenderly, he shared my essence with me with a searching kiss which reminds me this is *not* a dream but instead a glorious reality.

My chemical roughened hands ghost down his back and now it is his turn to shiver. Our tongues entwine with heartfelt urgency and with a little flex, he is flat on his back while I lay between his legs. Reluctantly I break apart our mouths but only so I can kiss my way down his broad chest on my way to his steel hard shaft. He is close and the rosy head draws me like a magnet.

Taking pity on him, I take him deep before slowly mouthing back up while my fingers tweak his pebble hard nipples. He is panting loudly now, his beautiful blue eyes squeezed shut while his head thrashes back and forth on the pillow. I am smiling at the wanton sight of him sprawled against the white sheets when my name is whispered, oh . . . so urgently. Licking the weeping drips from his cock, I run my tongue up and down the shaft before taking him in again fully.

His moan changes then and I speed up my movements, intent only on giving him pleasure. His whole body thrusts up once then again before I feel the first spurts of his seed onto my waiting tongue. Oh, he is ambrosia and I eagerly suck forth all he can give me. He is limp now and not just his cock. His entire body has gone totally boneless and he seems to have melted into the mattress.

"Sherlock." My name is nothing but a whisper but I hear him and slide up his side to take him in my arms.

We rest chest to chest, our legs entangled and our arms encircling each other in the most gentle of embraces. Our breaths mingle and for a moment, I can not tell which is mine and which his. Part of me reasons this closeness could be dangerous, I could lose myself in him. Lose my objectivity and my ability to think rationally. But then I've never been able to think logically about the man in my arms.

"Sherlock, you will be careful this evening? I could not bear to have anything happen to you. You carry my heart within you." His eyes held such love and no little fear.

"I promise you I will be quite safe. But you must promise as well. The beginning of this drama will be in your hands. David and Josiah need to be protected while I look for the map. Your calm head and quick wit will be needed in case the Baron shows his hand." I tried to show him my own faith and belief in him with my eyes as well as my words.

He smiled and kissed me tenderly. "We shall all be careful and foil the Baron's little plot. He is one Prussian who will just have to go home empty handed."

"Indeed. England has grown complacent, I fear. Else, he would never have believed such a plan would succeed." My mind began to work again. "Mycroft's job may soon be getting more difficult. Unless this was simply a warning flex of their government's to test our resolve and our ability to keep a secret."

"Dark waters, indeed. It is almost five, Sherlock. As much as I hate to have to say it, it is time we cleaned up and got ready to go." John kissed me regretfully.

We pulled apart reluctantly and bathed each other with the luke warm water on my dresser before he gathered up his clothes and headed to his bedroom to dress. I threw on what I'd worn before since I would be changing clothes again at the safe house. Smiling, I pondered the look on Watson's face when he next beheld me. Would he penetrate my disguise or would I escape his eagle eye?

Only time would tell. And time was ticking down to the opening curtain of our play. Who knows how it would end?

********************


	14. The Play's the Thing

********* Josiah ***********

I stood quietly and let David fuss over my suit. He was too pale even after our nap this afternoon. My shoulder ached a little but it was endurable. What was not, was the fear that my lover was trying to hide from me.

"David." His long elegant fingers stilled on the black scarf that was serving as my sling. "I love you and we will be all right tonight."

Those bright blue eyes raised slowly to mine. "I know that in my head, Josiah but my heart is a different matter. Images from the fight flash across my eyelids and I keep seeing you struck. Again and again and again."

I pulled him close with my good arm and kissed his forehead tenderly. "John told you that would happen for a time. But you can't let it fill you with fear. Instead of old horror, think of the future and picture our triumph tonight. Visualize our finding the map and foiling the Baron after we sell him those books he asked to see."

He couldn't keep back a smile. "At an inflated price so we can go on a long vacation to the shore when this is all done?"

I laughed out loud. "Of course! For all the trouble he's put us through, I think . . . oh let's see . . . triple the price should be about right."

Gently, he rested against my chest, his ear over my heart. "No money can ever compensate for what he ordered done to you. But I will try to be brave, Josiah. I will not let you down."

"You could never do that, my love. Just be your own sweet self and let John and Wenton take care of any rough housing that's needed." I kissed the fair hair under my chin. "But I do want you to be careful and not leave my side for any reason what so ever. I do not trust the Baron at all."

He shivered, looking up at me with troubled eyes. "Nor do I, Josiah. He undresses me with his eyes like some of the men do to their female companions at the pub. It makes me feel sick to my stomach."

I felt a rage building that I kept under control with some difficulty. "Don't look into his gaze, then. Keep those beautiful blue eyes of yours on his chin. It is very close to growing a twin and should keep your mind off what he's thinking."

He chortled in delight. "He is going to seed, I think. Too much hiring out of the laborious chores while he sits back at his ease. His hands are growing flabby, too."

"There, you see, he's not such an ogre. He's certainly no match for Holmes." Trying to keep his mind off the coming confrontation, I continued in a thoughtful tone. "I wonder what disguise he will be using. Watson didn't say earlier."

"It's a secret, even from him." David pulled away and straightened my tie before moving away to the mirror above the dresser. Picking up his ivory handled brush, he began brushing his hair in time to a myriad of suggestions about what the master of disguise might be wearing.

I just hummed at his ideas, barely restraining a grin at some of the more far-fetched ones. When I moved into the sitting room, he merely raised his voice and continued. His voice covered my opening the top desk drawer and removing the derringer that had belonged to my grandmother. The carved ivory handle felt like a toy in my hand. It was a ladies gun and only carried two bullets, one for each barrel. Diminutive but deadly at a range of twenty feet or less.

Checking to be sure it was loaded and slipping it into the sling beneath my hand, I closed the drawer softly. No need to worry David with my foreboding. But I would not forego going into the Baron's domain without the means of protecting the other half of my soul. Holmes had said we should all go armed and I was quite sure John would be carrying his service weapon. 

The knock on our door brought my attention back to the here and now. Mrs. Green opened the door to a well-dressed Dr. Watson and I took a deep breath. It seemed the curtain was rising on our drama and I moved forward to take my place.

***********

The drawing room was filled with tension and I could see the false bonhomie on the Baron's face. He really had expected David to come alone, I thought in disgust. My presence he took in stride but Dr. Watson's smiling face took him aback for a brief moment which satisfied something deep inside of me. Holmes had been right. There was more going on here than simple lust.

The good doctor was at his most self-effacing. Shaking his head at my stubbornness, he expressed interest in the books the Baron had requested which David had set out on the center oak table. The leather bindings gleamed against the blackened surface of the heavily polished wood. I stood to one side while David explained the fine points of the first editions to both his listeners.

A man had followed the Baron's secretary into the room and he stood almost at attention near the door. Try as I might, I could not remember what the three who'd attacked us looked like, only a fleeting reminder of a solid body and strong hands. This one could be one of them but would even the Baron be so bold?

My eyes kept coming back to the Baron where he stood so closely by David's side. My brave love had taken my advice to heart and his eyes never raised above the Baron's smiling lips while he answered questions about the provenance of the title in his hand. His slender finger traced the lines of ink on the title page of the *History of Gaming: From Ancient Times to the Present* by Sir Alfred Stenson, pointing out the author's handwritten signature.

Restlessly, I checked the room for exits while pretending to look at the decorations on the walls. I ignored the display of swords that fanned across one wall, except to make a note of their position. The hanging art was very opulent, full of over blown maidens being pursued through tangled gardens of dense green foliage by amorous swains. Something bothered me about them and I divided my attention between the conversation in the room and a closer study of the paintings.

Once I focused on the faces of the figures, I barely kept back my grimace of distaste. The women’s faces were full of fear while the lustful leers of their pursuers were positively satyric. Almost, I fancied I could see their cloven hooves. Each painting on the wall grew more detailed until I had to turn away from the depravity depicted on the last canvas. The bodies which writhed in painful ecstasy in the shadows of the obscene garden plantings were too much for my senses.

I concentrated on David’s hands as they reverently handled the leather bound volume from the last century. Calming, I decided to pay attention to the living persons in the room and ignore the painted ones. I made my way over to the three men by the table and wondered when Holmes would show himself.

“Josiah, do you remember when the records showed the Duke added this title to his collection?” David’s wide eyed gaze brought me back completely to the here and now.

“1838, I believe. He picked it up in Genoa while on a diplomatic mission.” I said genially. “He commented it was the only item of worth in the whole trip. I took that to mean the mission had gone badly.”

“Ah, the Italians are ever talkative but rarely say anything of importance.” The Baron laughed heartily at his own joke while the rest of us smiled politely. “Now, these appear to be just the books I was looking for. The only question would be the price.”

David and John stepped back and I began the bargaining session. It is said that a gentleman never haggles so it would seem neither of us were gentlemen since I rather enjoy the cut and thrust of the mock battle. For the first time that evening, I felt his attention was totally with us. With me. Interesting. He got me down to twice what I would have charged another and three times more for the Stenson volume before I shook his hand.

David was right, his hands were getting flabby but the strength behind the grip was unmistakable. I plastered on a fake smile while he sent the self-effacing blond secretary for the notes that would finish our transaction.

Our only apparent transaction. I mistrusted the glitter in his eyes and the spots of red that rode high on each cheek. For the first time in our acquaintance, I wondered if he had a drug habit. His pupils had contracted to pin points and I was suddenly afraid. We were in the enemy camp and the opposing general had the false courage of what appeared to be a cocaine high.

He called for a round of drinks to celebrate his ‘victory’ and the man at the door quietly left to call the butler. For some reason, that made me even more nervous. David returned to my side and I could see the slight tremor he tried so hard to hide. His smile lit our corner of the room and I could feel the Baron salivating like a bitch in heat. Suddenly I pictured David in the perverted paintings of the room with a leering Baron chasing him.

It would not happen.

Not if the good doctor and I had anything to do with it. When the door opened and three of the Baron’s underlings entered, I tensed, for now we were outnumbered. But a cheery voice prevented the door’s closing and when Wenton walked into the room with a cocky expression on his expressive face, I felt a frisson of relief.

“David! I wondered if you were tending to business tonight. Have you acquired any new treasures, Baron?” His laughing voice was a welcome addition to the rather stilted conversation. The secretary handed me an envelope satisfactorily stuffed with bank notes and I thanked him with a nod while watching the others out of the corner of my eye and placing the envelope into my side pocket.

The butler opening the champagne had wide shoulders and a barrel chest that spoke of power restrained. John was joking with Wenton while David stood by with a rather relieved smile of his own. The secretary’s glance at the foursome revealed a look of fear and loathing that quite took me aback. It seemed to be evenly divided between his master and David.

I took the glass of champagne and raised it to the Baron’s toast automatically, trying to understand what I was seeing. Why loathing, unless the Baron held something over his head? Then why fear when he looked at my lover? Unless . . . I thought I had it. He and David were both slender and blond, although Schultz looked to be a good ten years older than my David. If the secretary was the Baron’s current catamite and he knew he was being replaced by another then he would fear the loss of his patron.

But if he hated his master then surely he would be relieved at his replacement? With just a sideways glimpse, I wondered if they shared the drug habit and he was afraid of losing his connection to the drugs he’d come to depend upon. As Holmes would say, I was arguing ahead of the facts but at least I had a working hypothesis. I would leave him on the Baron’s side of this equation and treat him as an enemy until he proved otherwise.

I sipped the fizzy wine slowly and kept my eyes busy, watching for the Baron’s next move. Wenton had a brotherly hand on David’s shoulder and I hid a smile at the Baron’s glower. The talk had turned to puzzle boxes and John asked a question about the Baron’s collection. The prompt invitation to come up and look led me to believe that he’d been waiting for just that request.

We all trooped up the wide staircase that curved from the front hall up to the next floor where I imagined the State bedrooms would be. John steadied me on one side with a piercing look that told me he could see my small reserve of energy was running low. But leaving wasn’t an option now we had hopefully scotched whatever evil deed the Baron had planned in regards to David. For the map had still to be found and retrieved from his grasp.

So far, I had seen no one who could be Holmes, since each member of the household had been German and obviously a long time employee of the Embassy. The butler who let us in had been rather tall as had been the footman I’d seen in the back hall carrying an ornate silver tray in his white gloved hands. Neither felt right to me but I was at a loss as to just what position Holmes could drop into occasionally and not be suspected of being a spy.

At the third door to the left of the stairs, the Baron ushered us into a room lined with bookshelves of polished oak. But the shelves held no books instead displaying a plethora of boxes in every shape and size in an astonishing mix of materials. My eyes darted from side to side in astonishment at the vast array of puzzle boxes. 

“My word, Baron von Hauptmann, I’ve never seen such a wonderful collection in my life. I’d swear you have more boxes than the British Museum.” John mirrored my own startled look.

“You are right, Herr Doctor.” The Baron practically purred his satisfaction. “Actually there is no other collection of this size or value anywhere in Europe. I have over five hundred puzzles some of which are at my estates in Wiesbaden. These will be joining them this trip.”

“I say, Baron, you should start your own museum.” Stephen had steered David over to the west wall where an ebony box inlaid with gold glinted in the lamp light. “This looks like ancient Egyptian.”

“You have a good eye, Wenton. It came from a tomb of some Vizier or other from the third dynasty. One of my rarer pieces.” He said with a rather gloating smile and I did not miss the look he cast over David’s fair head where it bent over the foot long box.

I felt a surge of adrenaline that restored my flagging spirits with the determination to stay alert. John pressed my elbow reassuringly and moved us to the other side of the room so we had the Baron and his henchmen bracketed. Wenton cajoled our host into demonstrating how some of the boxes worked. And puzzling they were, with tiny conjoinings that baffled the mind and the hand with their intricate pressure points or slides.

Fascinating as they were, I still felt the denouement had yet to be reached in our little drama. A knock at the door brought two brawny footmen in with packing crates filled with straw. My skin crawled as I realized we were now outnumbered five to four. Taking a quick look around, I searched unobtrusively for objects to use as weapons, finding little with any heft or size. I’d just have to depend on my one good fist and the tiny gun I carried in my sling.

The Baron was explaining the bulk of the collection would be packed tonight and shipped with him in the morning. It was evident the two men in their hastily fitted uniforms were English, temporarily hired to provide some muscle. I made a careful note of one of them who sported a twisted lip and broken nose. He limped slightly and by the length of his arm could be impressively tall should he stand upright. It might be Holmes but I couldn’t tell for sure. 

Better to be safe than sorry, I decided and put him down in the enemy column. A squeak from the door announced still another underling, this one female. The Baron genially beckoned her in and the rawboned creature stepped gingerly inside while peering about her over her wire rimmed eye glasses.

“Sorry, Sir. You want I should come back later?” The cockney accent was there but not too pronounced. Her gray hair was straggling out of a rather untidy bun atop her head and she had a chronic sniff that spoke of catarrh. She was wearing a black cotton dress which had seen better days but it was scrupulously clean and neat. Her shoes were polished to a high gloss but the leather was almost worn through.

“Now is fine, Mrs. McGill. I was just showing these gentlemen my treasures before you wrap them up carefully and stow them away.” The Baron nodded at her and she bobbed her head like a pigeon, the glasses sliding down to the tip of her prominent nose before she pushed them up again with the practiced gesture of someone who habitually had to save her lenses from peril.

“Treasures, indeed, Sir. ‘Ave you shown them me favorite, Sir?” Her high pitched giggle was grating to the ears. “Such a pretty little thing. And you so clever at figuring out ‘ow to open it. In all me years ‘ere, I ain’t never seen the like.” 

He laughed at her but not unkindly. She was obviously an old retainer who amused him with her quaint ways. “Bring it here then and I’ll ask our guests to have a go at opening it.”

She darted to the wall behind the door and carefully lifted a black and silver box in her claw-like hands, bringing it back to set in her master’s hands. It was octagonal with inlaid patterns of what looked to be ivory set in cloisonne style among the silver wires embedded in the ebony. John and I crossed to where Wenton and David were examining it. 

The two footmen removed half of the straw packing material behind us and Mrs. McGill scooted over to them, scolding them for making a mess on the carpet. She ordered them out to bring in the soft cloths that would first be wrapped around the boxes before they were packed safely in the straw. I returned my attention to the box and watched as Wenton poked and prodded at the sides, trying to reveal the opening.

“You are not even close to the solution, Wenton.” The Baron laughed smugly. “Let young Harbottle have a try. His fingers are more sensitive than yours.” This was said with a caressing look that tightened my jaw so hard I could feel the bones pop.

But David simply smiled his thanks at our host and took the box from Wenton. “Would you give us a hint, Baron von Hauptmann?”

“Certainly. There are three pressure points and a sliding panel which must be touched in just the right pattern to reveal the secret hiding place.” He smiled at David and fleetingly touched his hand where it cradled the box.

The smell of benzine suddenly filled the room and I turned to watch Mrs. McGill rubbing briskly at a brass box, removing away some invisible tarnish to the metal. The homey smell seemed out of place in this stuffy room and that’s when I realized there were no windows anywhere. The inside room was the perfect vault for the Baron’s treasures. I brought my attention back to David only to find that John had taken up the challenge and even found the sliding panel on one side of the box.

“Bravo, Dr. Watson. All those years with the great detective have obviously sharpened your analytical skills.” The Baron was rather condescending in his praise, I thought.

“But not enough, Baron von Hauptmann. It would take a genius to figure this one out.” John complimented him with a little bow and handed the box over to its owner.

The Baron preened with sudden good humor and with a flourish, opened the box. Inside was a scarf of pure red silk, which he drew out with a theatrical flare. “All of my boxes have little treasures inside of them. It makes the game more interesting, don’t you think, gentlemen?”

Mrs. McGill gave another high-pitched giggle, drawing our attention. “Me Christmas bonus this year was a pound of chocolates in just such a puzzle box, your ‘onors. Took me nephew, Silas, ‘till Twelfth Night to figure out ‘ow to open it. Good chocolates they were, too.”

“Mrs. McGill has become quite the connoisseur of puzzles, haven’t you?” The Baron smiled genially at the figure stooped over the high-sided crate. Her high pitched laugh was barely muffled by the straw.

“S’right, Sir. You give me one every year for Christmas and I’ve got all twelve of them lined up on me mantel, pretty as a picture.” She stood up, still stooping slightly. “I’m the envy of me block, I am.”

He just laughed and handed her the scarf and box together. I watched her carefully fold the scarf up small and gently close the box with reverent hands. How interesting he’d found a charwoman with a love of puzzles. It reminded me not to judge a person by their accent.

The footmen returned with two boxes of white cloths and she immediately began a quiet haranguing that had them bobbing their heads in chagrin. Returning my attention to our host, I found him explaining yet another box to my lover while Wenton hung over his shoulder. I could feel my energy flagging badly and I tried to lean unobtrusively against a bookcase.

Trust John to notice, I thought fondly as he pointed to a seat near the door and looked sternly at me. Smiling, I did as he bade me and settled in with a suppressed sigh of relief. David cast a worried look at me but kept to his role of naïve ingenue. Mrs. McGill clucked at my pallor and asked in a stage whisper if I’d like a nice cup of tea.

The others overheard of course and my protests were ignored while the Baron dispatched Schultz to order tea and began gathering our group together for a trip back to the drawing room. I watched him giving a few last minute orders to the footmen and a gentle pat to Mrs. McGill’s shoulder. But just before he left the wall, I noticed he slipped a box into his right jacket pocket.

My heart leapt and I pretended not to notice, letting David help me to my feet. Could it be that was the box which held a map treasure? I wondered how I could get my suspicions to Wenton but he was drawling some tall tale to John. Murmuring quietly to David, I waited until we were settled onto the burgundy satin settee before sending him over to catch Wenton’s eye.

John took my pulse and gave me an admonishing look. “A cup of tea will give you a lift then it’s home to bed for you, Josiah.”

I agreed with a subdued grimace, muttering my suspicions to the doctor. He acknowledged my words with a glint in his eyes. But the butler was carrying in the tea tray and the next few moments were busy with our host making sure we all had our choice of refreshment. The tea was a rather refreshing Darjeeling and I drank it down thirstily, feeling a lift in my spirits almost immediately.

But all my theories came to naught when the Baron pulled out the box from his pocket and presented it to David with a little bow. “Please accept this little puzzle as a thank you for accommodating my need for such a late meeting. It’s a duplicate of one already in the collection and it’s a mere token of my esteem for your fine firm.”

“Th-h-hank you, Baron von Hauptmann.” David stammered his thanks and accepted the satinwood box while we looked on. Turning it over in his hands, he frowned charmingly but refused the Baron’s offer to just show him how it opened. “I shall work on it until it yields up its secrets. Thank you again.”

“It’s an amusing little puzzle and should give you an hour or two of enjoyment.” He smiled on us all with great good cheer and I felt my spirits plummet. 

It appeared he had outfoxed us. I could only hope Holmes had better luck than we had. Dr. Watson set down his empty cup and checked my pulse again, shaking his head at the rapid pace. “It’s time for us to leave, David. Your partner has done enough for his first day out of bed. Baron von Hauptmann, it was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance and see your wonderful collection. I wish Holmes could have been here.”

I made my way to the hall and our coats, thinking that was God’s honest truth. David helped me on with my overcoat and wound my muffler about my neck with a worried look which told me just how pale I’d gotten. We said our good-byes to both the Baron and Wenton who made some excuse to stay behind.

Wenton called out that we were to use his carriage and the dappled gray horse pulled it smartly up to the curb. It would have seated four of us quite nicely and John sat across from us with rather a worried look. My head was feeling rather fuzzy and I yawned before I could stop myself.

“Josiah, what’s wrong?” David’s worried voice sounded at my shoulder where I swayed and tried to stay upright.

“Sleepy. Very sleepy.” I could feel myself slumping against him while he fought to keep me upright.

“Hold him up, David. I think the tea might have been . . . been . . . drugged.”

I could hear John’s voice slurring from far away and my last coherent thought was the fear that the Baron’s men would attack now when all connection to him would be lost. As I fell fathoms deep, I prayed that somehow Holmes would be able to save David . . .  
***********************


	15. Come Into My Parlor

*********** Sherlock **************

I straightened with a silent groan. Taking four inches off my height with posture alone wasn’t impossible but it did lead to a nasty cramp between my shoulder blades. I’d have to have John massage it away for me. Humming tunelessly which is the only way my alter ego knew how, I finished wrapping the last puzzle box and placed it gently in the bed of straw.

Bennett was waiting and he hoisted the heavy lid up and onto the crate. Solomon had the hammer and nails with which they sealed up the wooden box full of boxes. I’d gone through each and every one this evening, finding nothing at all. John and the others had left two hours before and as the clock struck midnight, I pondered where else to look for our missing map.

Quiet voices from the back stairs brought me out of the door of the puzzle room in time to see an unconscious David carried in the arms of the Baron’s favorite bully, Krauss. My brain seized for one brief terrible moment with the knowledge that neither John nor Josiah would have willing let the young man come back to this place.

“The poor sweet dear. Was there an accident, Mr. Krauss?” I remembered to raise my voice an octave and put Mrs. McGill’s accent firmly back into place. The Baron was right behind and for one brief moment, his scowl was a terrible thing and his hand tightened on his walking stick.

“That’s right, Mrs. McGill. A terrible carriage accident in which I’m afraid young Mr. Harbottle was the only survivor.” His smooth words were like daggers in my heart and how I kept my wits about me, I’ll never know.

Darting to the closest bedroom door, I opened it and hurried inside to turn down the bed. “You’ll want to call a doctor for ‘im, I expect. Poor little thing to lose ‘is cousin like that. I always say, you can’t trust them drivers. Going all speeds around corners and such.” Tsking, I turned towards the dresser and the basin of water. “Bleeding too, ‘is poor ‘ead is.”

“If you’d watch over him for a few moments, Mrs. McGill, I’ll see about sending for a doctor.” The Baron’s gaze down at the still form was not a pretty sight as I raised my eyes to the looking glass. He leaned over and ran a caressing hand across the lean shoulder and down the limp arm. I shuddered internally as if he’d touched me instead of the comatose young man.

First things first, stop the bleeding and check to see if there was a concussion. I bobbed a curtsy to the departing Baron then crossed to the door in three long strides in time to hear his words to Krauss.

“ . . . them in the warehouse until just before the drugs wear off then smash the carriage and leave them artistically strewn among the wreckage. We’ll be leaving in two hours so you’ll have to catch the next ferry from Dover after you’ve made absolutely sure that their deaths can not be traced back to us.” His voice was menacing in the extreme but then Krauss was used to that.

I dashed back to the bed and inspected the wound gently. David had probably been hit on the head when the carriage was stopped. Why he wasn’t drugged with the others I didn’t know. I’d have to wait until he came to. A faint moan alerted me to his stirring. His eyes fluttered once than opened with a dazed look about them while he looked at me uncomprehendingly. 

Then memory returned with a rush and I saw stark terror in his eyes. “Josiah,” was all he said and he struggled to sit up.

Taking a chance, I held him still with one hand and removed my glasses with the other. “David! It’s Holmes. You are in the Embassy. Josiah and John are still alive but they are not here. We have only a few moments before the Baron returns. Tell me what happened.”

“Holmes. I thought you were the footman.” He searched my face with awe. “The tea was drugged and both Uncle John and Josiah passed out. The carriage stopped at my call but I think the driver had been replaced with one of the Germans because he just laughed when I begged him for help. Others came and when I tried to fight them one of them hit me.”

My brain whirled while I tried to conceive a plan that would retrieve our missing lovers, keep David out of the Baron’s clutches and still find the damn map which had started this whole fiasco. Those pleading blue eyes so much like John’s distracted me no end. I’d never felt so vulnerable before with the divergent desires to save my lover and my country fighting for prominence.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out. “All right, here’s what we’ll do. You feign unconsciousness until I can get Wenton to go and retrieve John and Josiah. If worse comes to worse, pretend you’ve just come to and you have amnesia. That should keep the Baron from . . . well from any action other than getting you ready to leave with him.” I faltered over my words.

But David simply nodded the fear in his eyes under control. “I can do that. But I will not go with him. Not alive anyway. Josiah was carrying this.“ He showed me a dainty little weapon from another age.

I nodded in complete agreement. “I hope it will not come to that but if it should, shoot to kill. The Baron is full of the courage that comes from the frequent use of cocaine. Let him get close, then shoot him straight through the heart.”

He simply nodded and tucked the pearl handled gun into his pocket. I caught the sound of footsteps and quickly retrieved my glasses. David must have heard them too for his eyes widened then closed while he let his head loll against the pillow case which was no whiter than his face.

I went back into character, dabbing at the cut on his temple and keeping up an almost silent stream of encouragement to the ‘poor little thing’. The Baron came in quietly and joined me by the bed. “The doctor is on his way. Has he regained his senses?”

“Not yet, the little dear. That’s a nasty cut for sure though. Take a stitch or two, I expect. Me cousin Bert was in an accident like that. Didn’t come ‘round for almost two days and when ‘e did, clean out of his wits ‘e was. Didn’t know ‘is own wife or kiddies, ‘e didn’t. Poor man ‘ad to relearn ‘is trade and all. Kind of a fresh start it was and should it ‘appen to this little one, it may be a blessing in disguise. Then ‘e wouldn’t know to grieve for ‘is poor dead cousin and friend.” I watched the Baron’s smirk and itched to slap it off his face but I just shook my head and managed a woe-be-gone look.

“You may be right, Mrs. McGill. But should that happen, I will be right there to take care of the dear boy. He shall want for nothing under my auspices.” The smooth voice was almost gloating in its satisfaction.

I made myself simper. “A lucky young man, ‘e is. Not all would ‘ave such a good friend. Will you be staying on then?”

“No. That’s not possible. If the doctor says he’s fit to travel, I’ll simply take him with me. That way, he’ll be spared all the bother and grief.” He positively glowed before turning to me. “But we’ve kept you far too long, my good woman. Here’s your pay for your fine work today and you must be off to your husband.”

I bobbed a curtsy to him and accepted the gold coin with extravagant thanks. “I thank ye, ever so much, yer ‘onor. But I’d not like to leave you without a woman in the ‘ouse. The ‘ousekeeper left this afternoon and who’s to watch the poor boy until the doctor comes?”

“I wouldn’t think of keeping you from your well deserved rest.” He all but bared his teeth to me. “I’ll watch him myself until the doctor arrives. I will see you again when I return in three months time. Perhaps with some more of those puzzle boxes you so enjoy.”

Curtsying again, I left with many good wishes for a safe journey. It felt like the basest betrayal to leave David in the clutches of his enemy but the need to dispatch Wenton to what I hoped was the right warehouse in time to rescue the others was growing urgent. Time was running out for all of us.

And I still hadn’t found the damn map.

Hobbling a bit down the back stairs, I found the kitchen empty. Ducking out the back door, I sped down the alley to the small garden of the house next door. Wenton had encamped there after publicly leaving the Baron with his own best wishes for a safe trip. He blended with the shrubbery so well that I almost passed him.

“Here I am, Holmes.” His murmur brought me to a halt while I immediately began to fill him in on the events of the last two hours. He was cursing steadily under his breath by the time I finished with the location of the warehouse I’d discovered two years before. He’d used it to store smuggled drugs. “Yes, of course, I’ll go and rescue them, Holmes, but what about David? Not to mention the thrice damned map.”

“Mrs. McGill is going back inside and make everyone a nice ‘ot cup of tea.” I mimicked her high pitched voice before dropping to my own. “I think I may have an inkling as to where the Baron has stashed the map. David is armed with a derringer and as far as I can tell, he has no qualms about using it. Hopefully, it won’t get that far.”

Wenton’s eyes gleamed in the starlight. “Oh, I don’t know. Part of me rather hopes it does, although, I’d prefer to do the honors myself. Preferably with his own sword cane.”

And the inkling became more solid yet. Giving him a duplicate key to the back door, which I’d had for years, I waved Wenton on his way. He had a fast carriage waiting nearby. Another of my brother’s time saving measures. Stretching to my full height, I did a few limbering up exercises before stooping back into Mrs. McGill’s persona and making my way down the alley to the kitchen.

Still empty and taking that as a good omen, I put the teakettle on and began arranging a tray for the gentlemen upstairs. Counting off those members of the Baron’s household who were left, I weighed the odds in our favor. Krauss did no thinking on his own and he was on his way to the warehouse. That left the butler, who preferred to see no evil and would be in any case completing the packing for his master.

Mutterings from the cellar reminded me that Bennett and Solomon were still on the premises. Thinking quickly, I rummaged in the cupboard and pulled forth a jug of beer. Emptying a sleeping potion of John’s making into the frothy potable, I slipped the empty vial back into my pocket. Pulling down a glass from the sideboard, I made sure they caught me pouring out a full portion, ostensibly for myself.

“Well, I’ll be.” I pretended great surprise. “Still ‘ard at it, boys? I was just about to ‘ave a cool one before I pushed off ‘ome. I don’t suppose you’d care for one as well?”

“After all the hauling up and down and in and out? Course we would.” Bennett sat down heavily and rubbed his knee. “Hit me leg on a bleedin’ iron stand down there.”

“Language!” Shaking my finger at his profanity, I still pushed the glass over to him. “Let me get another glass for you, Solly. Mr. Bennett, you wrap a wet cloth soaked in arnica around the bruise and that will ease the pain.” I poured another glass and handed it to Solomon. “Worked a proper treat on me boys when they’d get into fights. Course that was when they was younger.”

The teakettle burst into song and I hurried to remove it from the stove. Pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves, I watched the two men chug down their first beer. Casting a surreptitious look at my back, Bennett made haste to fill up both their glasses again. Watching them reflected in the silver teapot, I took my time setting out the little cakes on the Wedgwood plate. A few moments later, I turned to find them yawning.

I scolded them for not going home and seeking their beds. They peered at me through blurry eyes and I just smiled, suggesting that they lay their heads down and take a little nap. They laughed at me but within three more minutes, they were snoring in drugged slumber. We were back to two against three since I’d just remembered the secretary, Schultze. He was such a self-effacing chap, visitors to the Embassy often overlooked him.

Finishing up the tray, I took a deep breath and focused my mind on the current problem. While the tea steeped, I leaned against the wall by the stove and sorted the facts, as I knew them into a tidy sequence of events. The cocaine use did not surprise me. He had been increasing his dosage for over a year and I knew his irritability had also increased. He frequented a male brothel in Limehouse and gossip had it that he’d grown ever more violent in his passions.

His obsession with David and the deadly means he’d used to gain his objective showed an increased tendency towards passionate rather than dispassionate decisions that would be his downfall. I grimaced and wished the problem was not so cluttered with emotions. Smiling wryly to myself, I admitted my own passions were engaged in this endeavor. My empathy for David’s plight was strong and my fear for John’s well being was almost overwhelming.

My first instinct was to follow after Wenton and participate in his rescue but my mind over-ruled my heart this time. The map could not be permitted to leave the country and the Baron must leave without his desired slave. My place was here even though every fiber of my being longed to be at John’s side. I took another constricted breath and mentally cursed the stays that bound me. Ever since I’d begun this masquerade twelve years before, I’d had a new appreciation for the tortures the women of England suffered every time they got dressed.

Fashion had much to answer for. I often wondered how any of the poor creatures ever took a breath. No wonder they were all so thin. Eating while encased in whale bones was an exercise in futility. Levering myself from the wall, I rolled my shoulders back and forth, quieting my mind of all extraneous thoughts. I must be alert and clear minded to essay this rescue attempt. Preconceived plans were apt to fail when confronted with the reality of human passions.

I would let the Baron show me the best way to foil him and retrieve the map. Lifting the silver tray, I backed through the swinging kitchen door and began the long trek down the hallway that led to the back stairs. Treading lightly, I listened for anyone else who might still be on the premises. When I reached the next floor, I surprised Schultze on his way up to the next floor.

“Oooo, Mr. Schultze, you startled me, you did. ‘ave you been checking on the poor young man?”

“Young man?” He looked honestly puzzled until I poured out a garbled version of the accident. His eyes went from ice blue to blazing sapphire in the space of a moment. “I see. How thoughtful of you to make tea. Why don’t I go with you to open the door?”

He stalked down the hallway with me right on his heels. When he flung open the door, a rather grim sight met us. The Baron was seated on the side of the bed with David’s hand in his. Both sets of eyes turned to us but the emotions on their faces could not have been more different.

David showed white-faced relief while the rage in the Baron’s gaze flushed his cheeks with a quick wash of red. I filled the aching silence with Mrs. McGill’s natterings, bustling in and setting the tray down on the bedside table with my usual clatter. This persona had the hide of a rhinoceros and often rushed in where angels feared to tread. I really was rather fond of her and hoped this would not be her last performance.

“There now, young man, awake at last and parched, I ‘ave no doubt. A nice ‘ot cup of tea will soon put you right.” I began pouring while the Baron and Schultze moved a slight distance away. Their voices were vehement but low, the secretary practically hissing his words. They were speaking German to keep their conversation private but I had an ear for languages and translated easily.

“Ma’am?” The voice was weak and somewhat slurred. Really, the stage had lost a marvelous actor when this young man became a bookseller. 

“Mrs. McGill, at your service. Sugar is good for a shock, so I’ll put in three lumps.” I stirred in the sugar and cream before matter of factly pulling him up and stuffing a couple of pillows behind him. His pallor was unfeigned and I tried to look at the pupils of his eyes to see if we were dealing with a concussion. 

Holding the cup for him, I watched him sip with real pleasure. A little color came back into his pale cheeks while his eyes flickered to the two men arguing at the foot of the bed then back to me. I kept up a steady stream of homey wisdom that I had learned in my early years in London from women and men of Mrs. McGill’s background.

Behind us, the argument was escalating and Schultze was accusing his lover of plotting to get rid of him. The Baron was rather heavy handed in his denial but his impatience was evident to the meanest intelligence. The secretary practically vibrated with emotion while enduring the cutting remarks of his employer. He was trying desperately to salvage his pride at being passed over for a younger man but his livelihood was also at stake.

“Enough!” The Baron quivered in his attempt to appear calm. “Please go to the study, Schultze. I will join you in a few moments.”

For a moment, I wondered if the secretary would defy him but with slumping shoulders, he silently left the room. I calmly kept urging a cake into my patient while the Baron joined us from the other side of the bed.

“Now, Mrs. McGill, it appears you did not go home but kept right on working. And I, for one, am glad you did. It’s good to see a little color in your cheeks, young man.”

David blushed. “Thank you, Sir. I appreciate all the care you’ve taken of me. The tea is most welcome.”

“And ‘ow is your ‘ead feeling?” I said anxiously.

His hand trembled a little as he brought it to his temple. “It aches a little. The room seems to spin so when I move.”

“Poor little thing. Just like my cousin when ‘e lost his memory.”

“I’m sure it’s temporary, David. Just rest for now while I go tidy up some loose ends. You’re in capable hands with our good Mrs. McGill.” He smiled genially and patted David’s shoulder lingeringly just a moment too long before heading for the door.

We both waited for a few minutes while David finished his tea. When I was quite sure that the Baron wouldn’t return immediately, I urged him off the bed so he could find his legs. I needed him able to walk on his own but for now he had developed an alarming tendency to list to one side so I had to thread an arm around his waist to keep him upright. We paced slowly from the bed to the dresser and back again. On the next circuit, he took some of his weight off of me while his step steadied. One more round of the room and he was walking on his own, limping just a little but uncomplainingly testing his limits.

“Holmes, how long until we know about Josiah and Uncle John?” His voice wasn’t quite as steady as his tread.

“It’s been,” I checked the clock on the plaster mantel and calculated the times, “about an hour and a half. Wenton will have, no doubt, liberated our friends and be on his way back. He expressed an interest in taking care of the Baron with his own sword stick.”

“I devoutly hope he will.” David looked longingly at the door then resolutely went back to making another circuit of the room. “I just hope the drug will wear off soon or they may be incapacitated. Have you come to any conclusions about where the map is hidden? I expect you checked all the puzzle boxes before packing them.”

“Yes, I did. Except for the one he put in his pocket.” That still rankled.

“Oh, he gave that one to me. It’s here in my jacket pocket.” He reached for the jacket slung over the chair then hesitated and dove for the bed. His young ears heard what mine had not, the sound of muffled footsteps. I hurried to the water pitcher and dabbed the waiting cloth until it was damp.

Then turning to the bed, I slowly made my way to David’s side. The Baron opened the door just as I draped the cloth across the young man’s brow. With a worried look, I clucked alarmingly. “Sir, I think the poor thing’s running a fever. ‘e suddenly went all flushed. Where ever can the doctor be?”

“Why, he came while David was unconscious. He said he might run a slight fever while the healing process continued. But there is no impediment to our travels. I wonder if you could go and call Bennett here?” It was not really a question and I bobbed my head and left immediately.

I needed to hide the sleeping footmen before the Baron discovered them. And my curiosity was piqued as to Schultze’s whereabouts. Dashing to the kitchen, I found the drugged men in the same positions I’d left them. Getting a good grip around Bennett’s chest, I dragged him through the cellar door and down the stairs to the coal bin. He never even stirred. I’d have to make a note of that particular drug.

Hurrying back up the stairs, I silently cursed my voluminous skirts. Solly was heavier than Bennett and I worked up a sweat getting him down to his companion. My corset was digging into my ribs and I decided then and there to invent one without bone stays. Dragging in deep gulps of air at the alley door, I calmed my mind and wondered how much longer it would be before Wenton returned with our friends.

Closing my eyes, I conjured up John’s smiling face as I’d last seen it in the puzzle box room. Blue eye’s gleaming as he pondered, poked and prodded the puzzle in his beautiful hands, he’d never looked more desirable to my eyes. Sighing softly, I hoped to soon see him for real. But for now, I really needed to look for the secretary and get back to David.

The downstairs study was an ornate office with massive furniture and rows upon rows of books. But my eyes paid no attention to the familiar sights for they were drawn to the bloodied corpse of the missing secretary laying sprawled on the Persian rug before the oak desk. Stooping, I checked for a nonexistent pulse. It seemed Schultze had had good reason to fear being replaced.

Studying the pattern of blows about the head and face, I deduced that something of rather small dimension but with some weight behind it had performed its grizzly work. My mind brought forth the picture of the Baron’s demeanor when he returned to the bedroom. His clothes had been a little disheveled and he’d clutched his walking stick with a white knuckled grip. Had there been any discoloration of the silver knobbed head?

Moving back up the stairs, I pondered the ramifications of this murder. Diplomatically the Baron was immune to prosecution so Scotland Yard could not touch him. My brother was concerned only with the return of the fortification map. The loss of a single man would not weigh heavily on him. But I could not let this go so easily. The secretary had been a quiet soul with a sincere love of books and the Baron as hard as it was for me to conceive.

Reaching the upper landing, I strode to the back bedroom and entered with wringing hands. “Oh, Sir, I can’t find nobody below at all. The beer’s been took from the cupboard and it looks like the boys might ‘ave indulged a bit before they sloped off.”

The Baron frowned at me from his seat on the bed at David’s side. “That is unfortunate. We will need their help in loading the carriage with the luggage. I will carry David down myself. I’ll go and see if Stephens is finished in my room. Perhaps between the two of you, the important cases can be loaded. Krauss can see to the others.”

“But, Sir, who will drive the carriage?” I was prepared to drag in every objection I could think of to delay him.

“Stephens used to be a driver before he moved inside and became a butler. Why don’t you try and get another cup of tea to strengthen this young man for our journey? David, I know you’re anxious to regain your memory but time is on our side. Just rest now and you’ll soon be in a lovely stateroom where you can rest for the trip to the Continent.” He held David’s hand between both of his and smiled fondly down into the flushed face.

“I’ll do my best, Sir. I don’t want to be a burden to you.” He gazed up at his ‘benefactor’ through his long dark lashes and spoke bravely with a hesitant smile.

“Never a burden, my boy. And your best will be more than good enough.” He rose reluctantly and spared a smile for me as he left.

The closing door was echoed by a sigh from the young man prone on the bed. “Thank God. I thought I was going to be sick. Please tell me this is almost over.”

His pleading eyes begged me for reassurance and I smiled ruefully. “There are a few complications. I’ve stashed Bennett and Solomon in the coal bin. And it seems the Baron has murdered his secretary.”

David’s eyes grew wide and he sat straight up in the bed, glancing wildly at the door. “You’re not joking, are you? I knew he was capable of violence but cold blooded murder?”

“I’m afraid so. The cocaine has dissolved any inhibitions he might have had.” I debated if I should warn him again. His solemn face told me he was concerned enough. “I’m more concerned with the map which we have still not found. I suspect that it’s hidden in his walking stick. We need to get it away from him so I can check out my theory.”

“If I can’t walk, he’d have to carry me and you could hold onto his cane until we get to the carriage. But I won’t go any further, Holmes.” His eyes shone with fear and determination. “I can’t. He makes my skin crawl.”

“I understand, David. I will not ask more of you than what you have just outlined. In fact, I couldn’t have planned it better myself.” I patted his shoulder and he laid back with a sigh of relief. Smiling, I poured him out another cup of tea but left out the sugar at his request.

So, when the Baron returned abruptly, I was tidying the bed while David sipped at the milky tea. “Capitol, Mrs. McGill. If you would be so good as to help Stephens carry down the bags, I will keep David company.”

“Be glad to, Sir. Try and get him to eat something. I made the cakes meself.” And with a curtsy, I left to help load up the luggage. Perhaps I’d see our reinforcements coming. I was ready to end this investigation but had still to decide what to do about the murder. 

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d served as judge and executioner.

*********************


	16. The Curtain Goes Up

*********** Josiah ************ 

There were voices floating in the air around my head, obscured by the pounding sound that dinned in my ears. Both of them were annoying me no end and I wondered why these strange sounds were disturbing my slumber. Had we left the window open before we went to bed? Was there an altercation in the alley? I tried to roll over to stumble from the bed and go to the window but I seemed to be immobile.

When I tried to move, the events of the evening came rushing back to me and sent a flood of adrenaline into my veins. My eyes popped open and took in the dingy surroundings about me. The identity of one of the voices became clear at once when John’s worried face appeared over me.

“David?” I managed to whisper.

“Back at the Embassy. But Holmes is with him.” John’s voice was grim and wavered slightly as his eyes clouded briefly. “The tea was drugged and we both took in enough to put us right out.”

“Josiah, can you move yet?” Wenton’s face appeared next to John’s. “We need to get back to the Embassy. It’s been almost two hours since I left Holmes.”

I made an effort and managed to sit up with the help of Wenton’s strong arm. The room swam around me and I clamped my mouth shut on the sudden nausea. I seemed to be caught in an earthquake of gigantic proportions and I swayed with the moving room.

“Breathe deeply, Josiah. The antidote I just injected you with is fighting with the tranquilizer with which they doped us. Relax and breathe for a moment.” John’s voice was soothing and I took his advice before I realized it. The deep breaths did help and I settled back into my body, cataloging the various aches and pains like I would catalog the damage to one of my first editions.

My wounded shoulder was on fire while I seemed to have picked up some bruises to my ribs and my left leg. But it was bearable. What was not bearable was the knowledge my beloved was in the clutches of our enemy. Opening my eyes, I nodded at them both and began the struggle to my feet. Wenton was stronger than he looked and he picked me up as if I weighed nothing. I felt John instantly steady me with an arm about my waist and I draped my right arm across his shoulders, holding on to my balance with difficulty.

“Let us be off. I trust Holmes completely, but I expect he could use some help.” I spoke through gritted teeth while we slowly made our way out of what I could see was a run down warehouse. Out of the corner of one eye, I spotted a prone body with his head at an unnatural angle.

“One of the Baron’s bully boys who will not be reporting for duty again.” Wenton’s dry tones reminded me to whom we were indebted.

“Thank you, Wenton. I expect you would have rather remained behind and searched for your missing map.” 

“Nonsense.” Wenton’s white teeth gleamed in the gloomy light just before we exited into the cold night. “Rescuing you is just the first act. Now, we’re on our way to the second act and the finale.” He called up to the driver. “Wilson, all speed back to the Embassy. I hope you’ve reloaded.”

“Always ready, Sir.” The grinning driver flicked his whip in the air in emphasis.

John and I were loaded unceremoniously onto the comfortable bench seats of the brougham while Wenton swung up across from us. After banging his fist on the wall separating us from the driver, the carriage sprang into motion. John and I were jostled together unmercifully before the wheels found better purchase on a street away from the docks. The scent of fish and filthy water was strong here but quickly the odors changed to coal fires and cooked meats.

Had I been Holmes, I could no doubt have traced our route by the smells alone but the great speed of our travels meant they came and went too rapidly for me to focus on any one scent. John braced me as well as he could and I tried to keep from bumping my bad shoulder against the carriage wall. The swaying was doing nothing for my stomach and the nausea that threatened to overwhelm me but one thought kept me from calling a halt.

David needed me. My beautiful David of the tender eyes, shy smiles and sweet temper was depending on me to come for him. I had no doubt Holmes was doing his normally superb job of detecting but my heart ached with the need to hold my lover safe from all harm. I shuddered at the thought of his fear and loathing of the Baron. What he might be enduring at his hands didn’t bear thinking of and I gritted my teeth, trying to keep the pictures from my mind.

Thankfully, John broke into my tortured thoughts with a question for our rescuer. “Stephen, is Holmes still in his Mrs. McGill persona?”

Wenton crowed with laughter while I shook my head with wonder. “How did you know, John? It took me almost a year to figure out his disguise. And yes, he is still wearing his skirts. He said he had an inkling of where the map was. By now, he’s probably rescued David, found the map and trussed up the Baron in the pantry.”

“How I knew is my secret, Stephen. And as for what he’s doing, it is devoutly to be hoped he has wrapped up this wretched case without any more bloodshed.” John had the same yearning note in his voice, I could feel lodged in my own throat. I just needed to see them safe and sound before I gave into this all encompassing weariness.

We rounded yet another corner on nothing but two wheels, I swear. The driver was a master and I wondered if he trained professionally. I hoped so or else we’d never reach the Embassy alive. A clock rang twice in the distance and my prayers grew more fervent while I wondered what was happening in the quiet square where the German Embassy sat so primly.

According to the God of my fathers, David and I were outcast because of the love we bore each other. But not even such a stern Father would forever banish the bright light that was my David to the outer darkness and degradation of a life with the Baron. I could only hope he had the small derringer, which no longer rested in my sling and pray Holmes would keep him safe until we could get there.

“How much further?” John’s voice was as strained as I felt.

“Almost there, John. We’ve got reinforcements if we need them. They’re already watching the Embassy. And if I know Mr. Holmes, he’s already on his way to back up his brother’s endeavors.” Wenton had checked the last street sign under the lamppost and he sat forward as if to be ready to leap forth should we come to a halt.

And it did seem as if we were slowing. John’s hold on my arm grew even tighter if that was possible, but I gave no thought to the bruises that were no doubt forming. All of my thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only. David. 

“We’re here.” Wenton wrenched open the door and jumped out before the carriage stopped moving. John was also moving and I found myself outside without really knowing how I got there. 

Another carriage stood unattended with luggage stacked near the boot. A man leaned half in and half out of the side and Wenton strode up to him and brought his hand down in a flash over where the hidden head would be. His victim didn’t even moan and before John could do more than utter a soft 'oh', our driver was helping Wenton carry the unconscious man to our carriage for stowage on the floor.

“One less for them. Check him if you must, John but it was just a tap. Life preservers are wonderful things.” He slipped what looked like a lead pipe wrapped in a muffler back into his pocket.

A commotion inside the front door brought us all around and Wenton motioned us to the right while he went left. I noticed that even though John protested the violence, he’d pulled out his Smith-Webley and had it ready. The sight that met my eyes brought me up short. David was enfolded in blankets but his fair hair shone like a beacon in the front hall lamp as the Baron carried him down the front steps to the carriage.

Our driver dropped his head and opened the door with an ubiquitous bow. The Baron hardly acknowledged him, so intent was he on maneuvering the figure in his arms through the door and safely onto the cushions. Only when he’d backed back out did my paralysis end. Moving swiftly, I opened the street side door in time to find David fling aside the blankets and impel himself towards me. He flinched away until he saw me clearly and then he was in my arms and I lost track of the rest of the operation.

He was sobbing silently, his whole body trembling against mine while my own tears dampened the curly hair under my cheek. His arms were tight around me and I felt no pain at all even though he was pressed against a rather large bruise. The warm sweet weight of him was balm to my battered body. Alive and in one piece and I thanked God for it.

“Are you all right, beloved?” I whispered in his ear and felt his nod against my throat. The tear stained face raised to mine and he looked his own question, still too shaken to speak. “I’m bruised but fine. John had less of the drug and came to first. He had something that would counter it in his bag so now we’re both awake. Wenton rescued us from our warehouse prison and brought us back here.”

“I love you, Josiah. I was afraid I’d never be able to tell you that again.” He smiled shakily up at me and I could feel my heart melting at the sentiment that never grew old, no matter how many times he said it. 

“I love you too, Imp. And as soon as I get you home, we shall prove it.” I ghosted a kiss across the trembling lips, savoring the rich taste of my love but at the last moment remembering where we were and pulling back before I got lost in the taste and texture of his kiss.

Loud voices from the other side of the carriage brought us back to where we were and what was going on. Keeping my good arm around David, I walked with him around the back of the carriage and into the standoff. The Baron stood proudly with an air of hauteur bracketed by Wenton to his left, Watson to his right and Holmes in his persona of Cockney charwoman in front of him. Not even the petticoats and glasses could disguise his powerful presence.

For some reason, Holmes had the Baron’s walking cane in his hands. “I always wondered why this old sword cane was your favorite. The blade is too thin for you since I know you prefer the saber. So I considered the appeal of the simple oak with the carved silver knob. Much too plain for a man with such ornate furniture and paintings not to mention the gaudy puzzle boxes with which you filled the Embassy.”

“And your conclusion?” The Baron might have been in his drawing room speaking to a rather boring guest.

“A puzzle within a puzzle. A hidden compartment within . . .” and with a twist of his hands, the sword slid out and was handed to Wenton while the long fingered hands poked and prodded the slender stick left. Until a click sounded loudly in the still early morning air and a section of oak slid back to reveal just enough space for a tightly rolled onion skin to fall from it’s hiding place into a waiting hand. “A hidden compartment.”

“Very clever, Herr Holmes. I should have known where Dr. Watson was, you were sure to follow.” The piercing eyes turned to the doctor and saw us standing just behind. “Ah, David. Was it all a sham then? The amnesia?”

David raised his chin and spoke up proudly. “Yes. I came to while Holmes was with me and we planned the whole thing.”

The anger in those dark eyes swelled until I thought he would burst with it, but we were interrupted by yet another carriage driving up. The tall figure who stepped forth looked enough like our Holmes, I knew it could only be his brother. He was something in the government I knew but even the Baron looked a little shaken at his arrival. 

“Good evening, gentlemen. Is that my missing map, Sherlock? How kind of you to retrieve it for me.” The courtly glance took in our positions with lightning speed and I felt he already knew everything that had transpired in the last few hours from just one glance. A most formidable gentleman.

Sherlock smiled and handed the tightly rolled paper over to him. “Really, Mycroft. You must be more careful of these little things. I won’t always be here to gather them back in for you. Not to mention the wear and tear on all our nerves this evening. This one is going to cost you dearly.”

The elder Holmes frowned at Sherlock’s jocular tones but I could see one corner of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly. “Indeed. I had to come by to give the Baron a piece of news.” He turned towards the man who’d caused us all so much grief. “Baron von Hauptmann, by the power invested in me by Her Most Gracious Majesty, the Queen, you are hereby declared persona non grata. You will leave the country within the hour and you will not return. On pain of death.”

“You don’t have the authority.” The Baron looked as if he’d been stabbed. “My government would never allow it.”

“Kaiser Wilhelm was informed earlier this evening of your conduct and sent his concurrence by telegraph. I believe you will find your estates entailed. The Queen’s grandson finds such things as espionage distasteful.” Mycroft Holmes spoke calmly as if he didn’t know he’d just handed the Baron a death sentence.

He stood there, his hands opening and shutting in unconscious denial. His eyes glittered in the reflected light from the front hall of the Embassy. “So, it looks as if I have lost right down the line. I would give quite a lot to know just how you got to the Kaiser but no matter. It’s over.”

His shoulders slumped and I saw the gun in John’s hand drop a little while the driver appeared behind the Baron and Wenton closed in from the left. It made his next move all the more shocking when with a roar, he hit out at the two men bracketing him and smoothly drew a gun, pointing it in our general direction.

David stepped quickly in front of me and drew the small derringer from his pocket, pointing it at our enemy, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Drop it, Baron von Hauptmann. It will do you no good.”

But the Baron was past reasoning and he fired blindly at our group at the foot of the steps. Both Holmes’ dropped like stones and the sound of bullets roared in the still air. John had fired at the same time David did but Wenton had moved even more quickly yet to cover the body of the elder Holmes and I watched him flinch once before going still.

The forgotten driver hit the Baron from behind with something at the same moment several bullets found their mark. The big man crumbled into a heap, the gun still clutched in his hand. Sherlock leapt over the prone bodies of his brother and the brave man who’d taken a bullet for him, wrenching the gun from the Baron’s, hopefully, dead hand.

“John, check him for me. Be sure he’s dead.” Turning quickly, he found his brother already sitting up and feeling for a pulse in the throat of the man covering his legs. “Mycroft, are you hurt?”

“No. If this young idiot has gotten himself killed, I will never forgive him. Ah, I feel a pulse. Can you tell where he’s hit?” His tones were testy but I noticed the gentle way he held his bodyguard and the almost tender touches he gave to various limbs, checking for bullet wounds.

“The Baron’s quite dead. Let me see what we have here. Let’s get him turned over. Oh dear, I see it now. Entrance wound and . . .” John felt around under the coat, “exit wound. Excellent, I hate having to dig around for a bullet. It saves so much trouble to simply have to bandage things up. My bag’s in the carriage, could you please get it for me, young man?” He addressed the driver who was standing attentively by.

David was back in my arms, his back to my chest and my hands locked around his where they still clutched the derringer. “Josiah, do you think I . . .”

Even though his voice was only a whisper, Sherlock must have heard him for his kind eyes looked over at us and he shook his head. “Your derringer hasn’t the range, David. I’m afraid, Dr. Watson will have to take the credit tonight for ridding London of an evil man.”

“Nonsense, Sherlock. There is no credit or blame for tonight’s work.” Mycroft spoke briskly. “Smithers and Wilson will take the Baron and his carriage back to the warehouse where Dr. Watson and Mr. Harbottle were briefly incarcerated. From there on it’s probably best you don’t know anymore. Agreed, gentlemen?”

I rested my forehead against the back of David’s head and sighed wearily. My voice was muffled but plain. “Agreed, Mr. Holmes. So long as we get a ride home, I’m willing to forget the Baron ever existed.”

“Yes.” David said simply.

“Of course, Mycroft. Are you also going to tidy up the two drugged men in the cellar and the dead body of the secretary in the study?” Holmes might have been asking about the weather for all the concern he showed.

His brother sighed in exasperation. “Of course, Sherlock. Ah, I see you’re back with us, Stephen. You’ll go to any lengths to avoid cleaning up after one of these messes, won’t you?”

The grin was faint but unmistakable. “You know me, Sir. Anything to avoid working. Are you all right?”

“Of course. I know when to duck.” He emphasized the pronoun just a trifle and received a slightly broader grin.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry.” He finished on a grimace as John splashed alcohol over the wound before bandaging it with a thick gauze pad from his bag.

“Proper bandaging can wait until we get you home. Soon.”

“Yes, of course. Ah, Peters, I wondered where you were.” He greeted the wiry man who’d appeared out of the dark. “We’ll need you to secure the house until the rest of the men arrive. There’s two men locked in the cellar and a dead body in the study. Don’t let anyone in or out until Smithers returns from his errand. Did the Baron kill his secretary?” He asked his brother.

“Yes. Perhaps, whatever is going to happen to the Baron could also happen to Schultz?” Sherlock suggested quietly.

Mycroft pursed his lips and thought for a moment. “Why not? Smithers and Wilson, please remove the other dead body to this carriage.”

I watched in amazement at the deft handling of the potentially explosive situation. Mycroft gave quiet orders, Sherlock made low voiced suggestions and John kept on working on his patient. Wenton had grimaced again while John was tightening the bandage around his ribs and I wondered if one of them had broken the bullet’s path. I’d long since gone quite numb, content to stand in the cold night air with David blanketing me in front with his heat.

Whatever John had injected me with was wearing off and if I hadn’t been holding on to David, I would have fallen flat on my face. Even John seemed to falter and I watched him shake his head as if to clear it. Sherlock noticed it immediately and his hand touched his lover’s shoulder gently as if to steady him and lend him strength.

I smiled at the thought that both of us had resilient lovers and how very lucky we were to still have them. The shrouded body of the secretary left the house and joined his master’s body in the German carriage. Smithers came back to help Mycroft get Wenton into their carriage and I gazed blearily as Sherlock and John spoke quietly together. I’d lost my voice completely and I wondered if David had gone into shock.

John nodded and turned toward us. “Wilson, is going to drive us home. Holmes will follow later.” He smiled wryly. “He has to go ‘home’ as Mrs. McGill before he can come home as himself.”

“And the sooner I get out of this straight jacket, the better I’ll like it. I’ll let Mycroft take it from here.” Holmes’ acerbic tones brought a smile to my lips. “And tomorrow, we shall meet and winnow out all the events of this evening so Watson can write it all up as one of his little fantasies.”

“One for my private files, perhaps.” John smiled tenderly at his lover. “I wouldn’t share the picture you present right now with just anyone.” His gentle teasing brought an echoing smile to his lover’s lips. “I’ll see you shortly, shall I?”

“As soon as I am able. I promise.” Holmes contented himself with a brief clasp of John’s shoulder then stepped away to have a word with his brother.

Swaying by now with drugged induced fatigue, John and David both had to help me into the carriage. My mind was threatening to shut down completely and so long as I had David’s hand in mine, I was tempted to let it. A clock struck three and I couldn’t help but think that we all looked like cats who’d been left out in the rain after a night of tom-catting around.

“Uncle John, is there anything I need to do for Josiah? Any side effects of the drugs he’s ingested?” David’s voice was tired but he was still taking care of me.

“No stimulants. Water only.” John was hanging onto the strap with the look of a man who was at the end of his own rope. “When we get there, I will be looking at your head, young man. Holmes said that you don’t have a concussion but I want to see if you need any stitches.”

“Thank you, Uncle John. But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather you got some sleep before I let you anywhere near my skin with a needle and thread.” David sounded so matter of fact, it took a moment for what he’d said to sink in.

John chuckled while I shook with silent laughter. David just smiled and rested his head below my chin. We were all dozing when the carriage stopped in the alley outside our back door. The cheerful driver took David’s place in helping me out of the carriage while my lover got the door open and John carried in his bag. David lit a lamp and started up the stairs after relocking the back door. John followed with Wilson helping me up the long flight towards our private rooms.

Putting one foot in front of the other was all I was capable of doing and John directed the driver to take me straight into the bedroom. The next thing I remember was slipping between the cool sheets with a groan of pure relief. I managed to stay awake long enough to hear John give David the approval to sleep. They disappeared for a moment and though sleep called me, I could not rest until David returned. Listening to the rustle of clothing being removed, I lay there and waited.

David slid in beside me, nestling close and gently kissing my nipple. “Go to sleep, Josiah. We’re both safe now.”

I aroused enough to pull him even closer. “I’m proud of you, my love. You found yourself in an horrible situation and you saved yourself when I couldn’t help you.” 

He shuddered. “I was terribly afraid.”

“I know you were, Imp. But it didn’t stop you from helping Holmes to find the map and getting you both out alive. Even though I never want you to ever be in danger, I will always remember how very brave you were when you stepped in front of me, prepared to shoot the Baron to protect us.” I had to make him see how much I respected his actions.

“I would do anything to keep you safe, Josiah.” He raised up on one elbow and looked down at me, his blue eyes glittering. “You are my life.”

“And you are my heart and soul, beloved.” I found enough strength to brush his cheek gently with my hand. “Sleep now. We’re safe within this home we’ve created out of our love.”

“Safe, indeed.” He murmured, laying down again as close as he could get to me. His gentle breath evened out and lulled me into a dreamless sleep.  
*********************


	17. Calm After the Storm

*********** Sherlock ************* 

I unbuttoned as quickly as I could, my fingers fumbling a bit with fatigue. Mycroft’s carriage had dropped me off several streets away from the safe house where Mrs. McGill lived. There actually was a charwoman of the same name, a widow with one son in prison and another who’d become one of my Irregulars. When I needed to become her, she stayed inside with her sewing while her son James kept watch. But for now, I was in James’ bedroom assuming my own persona.

For the neighbors’ benefit, I was a down on my luck tutor who gave the young lad lessons in exchange for her mending and sewing. A bit complicated but it had worked for the last few years, I wondered if I’d have to give her persona up, now that so many others knew of her. Cold cream took care of the makeup needed to turn me into a 52 year old woman who’d seen hard times and the lukewarm water in the basin took care of the sweat and dust from all the heavy lifting I’d been doing.

I left the clothes draped over the chair. Mrs. McGill would clean, mend and press them for me. I stopped and took a deep breath for the first time in hours. The corset had left bruises on my ribs and I wondered what John would say about them. Smiling, I finished buttoning my shirt and tucking it in before I shrugged on my jacket. In less than an hour I would be home.

Home. A word I’d never understood until John came into my life and created one for me. Oh, the house might belong to Mrs. Hudson but the rooms, and more importantly the feelings that filled them had been put there by John. I had until I reached 221B Baker Street to go over this case. Once I reached there, I planned to forget everything but my lover and the fact he was alive and safe.

I stopped briefly and left some money with James for his mother before leaving quietly out the back. Walking briskly, I luxuriated in the freedom of striding without the hampering skirts and the too tight shoes. Bringing my pipe out of my pocket, I paused for a moment under a street lamp to get it properly lit. A policeman on his beat watched carefully before recognizing me and we exchanged nods before he continued on his way and I resumed my journey.

There were a few loose ends to this little drama but most of them were in Mycroft’s capable hands. However, the small fry from the Baron’s espionage tangle were criminals from the Limehouse vicinity and it would be up to me to see to taking care of them. Some of the servants on holiday were blameless and I wondered if the German government would immediately send over a replacement who would consider keeping them on.

Smoke wreathed around my head in the chill early morning air. A clock in a nearby tower struck four and as I passed a pair of men on their way to work, I thought once again of what made our country great. Was it the pride in our workmanship? Love of Queen and country? Our belief in our natural superiority? Or was it simply the inability to bow down before another, be he lord or commoner? 

Chuckling to myself, I decided I would ask John what he thought. I enjoyed watching that little wrinkle appear between his eyes and the faraway look in them while he pondered some conundrum I’d advanced. He brought balance to my thinking and even more than that, he brought such joy into my life that sometimes I could hardly bear to let him out of my sight. 

My steps quickened yet again while I thought about the delights awaiting me at home. Warmth. Comfort. Love. All things I had eschewed from my life so I could become a thinking machine, devoid of emotion. But he had rescued me when I didn’t even know I needed rescuing. Brought me into his heart and warmed all the cold corners of my soul. Had my reasoning faltered? My deductions withered? 

No, I thought not. The toll the emotions of this case had wrought was simply the price of loving John and by extension, our friends. How quickly the Harbottles had gone from acquaintances to friends. Young David’s courage under extremely stressful conditions had shown me the true temper of the man. Josiah’s fortitude and rock solid belief in Watson and I humbled me. 

Wenton’s daring and passionate protection of my brother had been yet another surprise. And Mycroft’s pursuit of justice all the way up the ladder of command to Her Majesty showed me just how much he cared for the people of England, starting with his younger brother. Had there been something different about him this night? Something said or done that would cast a bright light on a seeming difference?

I mused on the scenes as I replayed them in my mind. Had I been focusing on John to the detriment of my duty? Smiling around my pipe stem, I answered a soft yes to my own question. Looking up with relief at the windows of our sitting room, I spied the dim glow of a dying fire. Putting the key in the lock, I quietly let myself in and relocked the door. Shedding my coat, scarf and hat, I watched them drip on the marble tiles of the ornate coat rack in the front hall.

Slowly, I made my way up the steps to our rooms, feeling every one of my years. I was getting too old to be out at all hours of the day and night. Perhaps I needed to start training a few of the Irregulars to start taking over some of the duties of detection. Thus it was I was smiling when I opened the door to our sitting room and found my dearest friend asleep on the settee before the fire.

Kneeling beside him, I just watched him sleep. All the alarms of the last 24 hours had left him with lines of care creasing his eyes and cheek. He was paler than usual and a frown still wrinkled his brow. I smoothed it out gently with one finger then softly touched the graying hair at his brow. I was responsible for so much of the worry and stress which plagued him.

“Holmes.” He sighed my name and opened sleepy blue eyes still clouded with the remnants of the drug he’d ingested. “Are you all right?”

His concern is always for me and I felt an uncommon sting, which I had to rapidly blink away. “I am fine, John. You are the one who was drugged. How are you?”

“The stimulant I injected Josiah and myself with has worn off and I will probably need to sleep a good eight hours to recover fully.” His eyes were at half-mast and I smiled at his attempt to stay awake.

“Then I shall put you to bed and join you for a few hours sleep. For some reason, I’m feeling rather fatigued myself.” I pulled him up, enjoying his chortles at my under stated comment. With one arm around his waist to steady him, we made it up the stairs and into his room.

I sat him on his bed and hastened to light the lamp on his bedside table. When I turned back, he was fumbling with his buttons with unaccustomed clumsiness. “Here now, John. That’s my job. You well know how much I enjoy undressing you.”

Yawning, he gave in and let me speedily disrobe him. He shivered at the touch of the cold sheets yet by the time I joined him beneath the blankets, he’d already heated them for me. Turning into my embrace, he sighed and pressed close to me. “Love you, Sherlock.”

“As I do you, John. You were very resourceful during this whole imbroglio. And I am so glad you are safe.”

“Always safe with you, love.” His sleepy voice died away almost before he finished the endearment but I heard it plainly.

Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, I set my internal clock for three hours and followed him into sleep.

********** Josiah ************** 

I heard David’s voice first then Mrs. Green’s answering and the memories of recent events flooded my mind. My eyes tried to pop open but it felt as if they’d been glued shut during the night. I ached all over from my neck down to my toes and I heartily wished the brass band playing in my head would go away. But even those pains were as nothing when I remembered what we had fought over the last 24 hours. My irrational fear that David was in trouble brought me upright in our bed with a moan. I had to see him to be sure he was all right.

“Josiah, lay back down right now.” His voice came hoarsely from the door and I pried my eyes open to see him cross the room with Mrs. Green right behind him with a loaded tea tray.

“Are you all right, David?” I hardly recognized my own voice. We both sounded as if frogs had taken up residence in our throats.

“Bruised only, Josiah.” He stuffed pillows behind my back and the touch of his hands was all I needed to quell the debilitating fear. Curling up beside me, he fussed a bit over the blankets and made sure no breath of cool air would find me. 

“Those drivers are all a bunch of fool ‘ardy chaps.” Mrs. Green plunked the tea tray down on the bedside table and removed the tea cozy from the teapot in one smooth motion. “Lucky you both are that it wasn’t worse than a good shaking up. Although it probably didn’t do your poor shoulder no good, Master Josiah.”

I took the proffered cup of tea, brewed just the way I liked it. “I’m afraid you’re right, Mrs. Green. I believe I’ll simply stay in bed the rest of the day.”

“Not much of the day left.” She twinkled back at me while straightening the bedclothes around us. “Tis a fact you’ve slept the whole blessed day away and probably the best thing for you. I’m making stew for your supper. T’will strengthen you right up.” 

“Even if Josiah isn’t hungry, Mrs. Green, I could eat a horse.” David grinned at our housekeeper.

“You’re still a growing boy, Master David, no matter how many years you’ve got. I’m going to go check on me bread and give the potatoes a stir. You just finish that tea and I’ll be back in a bit to bring your meal.” She poured us both another cup before leaving us for the kitchen.

David leaned over as soon as the door shut behind her, kissing me tenderly but quite thoroughly. He’d been up for some time if his shaved cheeks were any indication. I was content to allow him control of the kiss only murmuring a little when he finally pulled away. His eyes were clear and I could see he’d come to terms with our adventures.

“I love you, Josiah. Mr. Holmes sent a note around earlier that said Uncle John was sleeping off the drug and you should too.” He stopped and took a sip of the steaming tea. “It’s almost four in the afternoon.”

“And how do you feel about what happened?” I almost held my breath while I waited for his reply.

Those clear blue eyes had a far away look to them. “I’m stronger than I thought. I was so afraid of the Baron, I thought I’d be paralyzed if I ever fell into his hands. And it was distasteful in the extreme when he touched me. But . . .”

I waited with baited breath while he tried to find the right words to explain his feelings. His grin, when it came, was rueful and he shook his head before meeting my worried gaze. “I’m afraid I rather enjoyed pitting my wits against his. Play-acting while Holmes sought for the map. I was so worried about you there was little fear left for myself. He made me angry and that gave me courage.”

Relaxing back against the pillows behind me, I brought his free hand up to my lips. “My brave imp, you are only now seeing the strength you’ve always possessed. I’ve watched you grow into a splendid man from such a brave child. I’m so proud of you.”

He blushed, his eyes tear-bright. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Josiah. It is your love and faith in me that made me keep trying to be the kind of man you could admire.”

“More than admire, David. I love you more than anyone in the world.” I rubbed my stubbled cheek against his smooth palm and watched him wriggle at the teasing touch. “After dinner, I think a bath is in order. I can still feel the grime of that dreadful warehouse. And the hot water will wash away what remains of this adventure.”

His smile lit the room and he leaned over to kiss me before slipping from the bed and out to the bathroom to light the gas on the water boiler. I mused on what he’d said. We’ve never been able to lie to each other, which always made Christmas an exercise in futility. He truly had come to terms with his strength of will. I had obviously not done as good a job as I’d wanted to in respect to telling him of his many attributes.

He is a brilliant, determined and courageous young man. If he could only see what I saw every time I looked at him, I thought. Then I remembered the look in his eyes while he was telling me of his ordeal and I relaxed a bit. Perhaps words weren’t what I needed when actions could speak for me. A vacation by the sea would give us the time and space to come to terms with all the emotions this ordeal had stirred up.

I drank my tea and thought about the possibilities of travel. It was still winter but some of the southern shires had protected coastlines where we could walk in the bracing sea air and recover our balance. John had come back positively glowing from their sojourn in Cornwall. A sudden notion halted the cup in my hand in mid air. Could that have been when they acknowledged their love for each other?

No doubt the smile on my face resembled one of our cats eyeing the remains of a fish dinner. Coming back into the bedroom, David caught the tail end of my grin and began to laugh. “Oh, Josiah, if you could only see your face. You’re plotting something, I can tell.”

I finished my tea. “Yes, I am, love. I’ll tell you all about it while we’re bathing.”

“Mrs. Green said dinner is almost ready. Do you want to eat in here or shall I get your robe so we can eat at table?” He cocked his head and left the decision up to me.

Suddenly, the bed felt lumpy and all my muscles needed to stretch. He read my face perfectly and grabbed my robe from the foot of the bed, coming around to my side, removing the tea tray to the side table and pushing away the covers. Using my good arm to push myself off the mattress, I slid into his arms and let him steady me while the room did a little dance around my spinning head.

“I’ve got you, Josiah.” He murmured softly and I sighed happily at the wonderful thought.

“Yes, you do, my imp.” I kissed the silky hair at his temple and felt him press against me, his hands holding me tight.

“Always.” He pulled back just enough to look up at me. “When I’m with you, I’m stronger then when I’m alone.”

I let him carefully dress me in the heavy robe and waited until he was tying my sash before I tilted his head up so I could see his eyes. “It is the same for me, David. When we are together, I am a veritable lion of courage. You are the other half of my soul and I am incomplete unless you are with me.”

He reached up and brushed his thumb across my lips. “My brave lion. Perhaps, you’ll roar for me after our bath.”

I burst out laughing at the teasing look in his eyes. He grinned triumphantly and led me into the outer rooms for dinner. My appetite had returned with a vengeance so even the awkward inability to butter my own bread didn't stop me from finishing a large bowl of Mrs. Green’s savory stew. David ate steadily too even though Mrs. Green had fed him once already at noon.

The delicious meal left me feeling rather sleepy but also in need of the bathroom. Our charlady sent us off with an admonishment to David not to let me drown. She rather disapproved of the constant bathing we did in the winter. Shaking her head over our risking of pneumonia because of excessive immersion in water, she began clearing the table while David led me to our bath.

Pulling the curtain around me, I relieved myself with a sigh of relief while listening to my lover prepare the tub. Thinking wistfully of our last bath, I restrained my libido and finished voiding my body of all wastes. Thank goodness for modern plumbing. I could still remember my youth and the chamber pots tucked discretely within the cupboard. This was much better and more sanitary to boot.

When I stepped from behind the curtain, a naked lover bent enticingly over the side of the tub greeted me. Sighing, I struggled to pull my nightshirt over my head only to have him laughingly spring to help me. My shoulder ached but the dull throbbing was bearable as he pulled me to the sink and the shaving equipment. I watched him with loving eyes while he shaved me clean of the heavy whiskers.

I felt much more civilized after the shave and he helped me carefully over the side of the tub and into the steaming water. Stretching out into the faintly green water, I inhaled deeply. David had sprinkled in the winter green bath salts with a heavy hand and my slightly stuffy nose cleared completely in the medicinal vapors. The only thing better would be my partner and I opened my eyes to find him watching me with a faint look of worry on his expressive face.

“Come and join me, beloved. I don’t think I can reach my toes and they feel rather neglected.” I put a sorrowful look on my face that he saw right through.

“I don’t want to jar you, Josiah.” He hesitantly climbed in and knelt between my splayed legs, facing me. He reached for the soap and began to rub it into a frothy lather.

“I promise to tell you if there’s pain, David but at the moment there really is none. Just an ache that even now the warmth is easing.” I shifted a little, resting against the sloping back of the white enameled tub.

“Good. Now just relax and let me take care of you.” He smiled and ran his hands over my chest, soaping the black curls into a bubbled confection. Everywhere he touched, I felt warmth blossom. He has magic hands that can either calm or excite me into complete bliss.

He cleansed me from head to toe with a special foot massage that had me purring in contentment. Laughing, he kissed me awake from my floating trance. “I shall ask you to purr for me again, very soon, Josiah. Now, I need you to let me help you out of the tub so we can get dry.”

I was feeling rather limp and I watched David drying himself with deft touches while the water ran out of the tub. The slide of white cotton over his skin was mesmerizing and I felt my breath grow shallow when he bent to dry his long legs. Suddenly, I felt my groin grow interested in the proceedings and I sat up hastily. He smiled at my movement and let the towel fall to the tiled floor, leaving me to worship him like a connoisseur of living breathing art. 

I wondered if Michelangelo had had such a beautiful young man to inspire him while he carved his marble David. I was content to let him dry me off while I gently touched all the places on his glowing body that reminded me of just how lucky I was. His broad shoulders, the pert nipples that hardened at my touch, the flat stomach that rippled beneath my fingers and the beautiful cock that lifted to my hand like a bird into his nest.

He shuddered imperceptibly and paused in his drying of my back to lean his forehead against my good shoulder. “Please, Josiah, do not hasten me into a quick release. I feel as if a sudden touch would trigger me too quickly and I would like to take my time tonight.”

“I am in your hands, love. What ever you want, however you want it.” I gave him a last soft caress and then moved my hand to his hip out of danger’s way.

He hugged me close and whispered in my ear. “It shall be wondrous, beloved. I promise you that.”

Now it was my turn to shiver and I nodded while he finished drying me off. Once he’d belted my robe around me, I watched while he swathed his body in his own robe. It took me a moment to remember that we were not alone and it was only late afternoon. Mrs. Green was quite forgiving of our relationship but we tried not to flaunt it before her or subject her to any action that might strain her good will.

We left the steamy bathroom and passed through the outer room, which had been cleaned and tidied of our meal. Mrs. Green had just finished remaking our bed and she eyed us a bit disapprovingly but with a twinkle. “It’s about time you finished weakening yourselves like that. What ever that nice doctor would say about such goings on, I can’t imagine. I know you’ve slept the day away, Master Josiah but I expect you’ll be glad to take another nap.”

I nodded and felt the truth of her words. “It doesn’t seem possible but I think you’re right, Mrs. Green. I’m feeling quite ready for sleep.”

“After a massage, Josiah.” David removed the pillows at the head of the bed and stacked them on the nearby chair.

“Good idea, Master David. Is there anything else you need tonight?” She eyed us from the doorway and smiled at our fervent no. “Then I’ll be off. Oh, a message came while you were bathing. It’s on the hall table.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Green. We’ll see you in the morning.” David followed her out while I disrobed and slid between the cool sheets. A moment later and my lover was coming back in with a sheet of parchment in his hand. Closing and locking the door behind him, he shrugged off his robe and sauntered across the room while reading the note.

“From Holmes?” I asked while my eyes feasted on his glowing flesh.

He laughed out loud. “Yes, indeed. It says that he’s making Uncle John stay in bed to recover fully from our adventure. He invites us there to dinner tomorrow so we can speak without having to worry about who’s listening. And he asks if we’ve read the afternoon paper?” He laid the note aside and crawled in beside me, pushing the covers to the foot of the bed. “We’ll have to do that tomorrow. Right now, the only thing I want to read is your body. I think I’ll pretend I’m blind so I’ll have to use my fingers to map your skin as if it were braille.”

I relaxed and let him have his way. The massage oil that he smoothed over my skin smelled faintly of the same wintergreen he’d put in our bath. I tingled everywhere he touched. He kneaded my legs into limp noodles before lightening his caress into a sensual skimming that made me move restlessly in the still air. Then I felt it. A finger sliding up my cock to gently rub just under the flaring head. Shivering, I opened my eyes and watched him watching me.

“You promised to take me, David. Back before the insanity started. I think it’s time you show me how much you love me.” I whispered into the silence.

He smiled gently and slid his fingers down to prepare his way. I felt him breach the muscle and soothe the oil deep inside of me, while I raised my hips to encourage him. He kissed the tip of my hardening cock while he scissored his fingers within me. I was panting by the time he slid inside, completing the connection we often felt between us. I touched his face softly and those beautiful blue eyes opened for me, giving me such a look of love, I felt it like a caress.

Then he was moving within me, slowly gathering speed and hitting my prostate with an unerring precision, shivering me into helpless climax long before I was ready. He managed three more thrusts before releasing into my depths and settling onto my chest and into my leaden arms. Harsh breathing was all I could hear and the precious weight of my lover all I could feel.

“I love you, Josiah. Let’s concentrate on the book business for a while, all right?”

I feathered a kiss to the sweat dampened hair beneath my chin. “I love you too, David. I promise we’ll take a long vacation after we take care of selling off enough books so we can go someplace warm.”

He raised his head and smiled down at me. “I’ll take that promise, love. Now, let me clean us up so you can sleep more comfortably. Tomorrow, we’ll see what orders have come in.”

He slipped from my body, kissing me in apology then leaving our bed to go in search of a wet cloth and towel. I clenched my inner muscles to keep from leaking onto our clean sheets and thought about what we would need to do to keep our book store going while we healed from this dramatic adventure. David returned and cleaned me up before crawling into bed and pulling up the covers.

“Sleep, love. Leave the planning for tomorrow. We’re safe now. Go to sleep and dream of us on a sandy beach with sunlight all around us while the waves wash onto shore.” 

I cradled him in my arms and let his soothing voice lull me to sleep. Sweet dreams indeed.

**********************


	18. Tying Up Loose Ends

*********** Sherlock ************** 

I burned the last of my telegrams in the drawing room fire and sat back on my heels to contemplate the interesting turns this case took between the finding of an innocuous letter and the shocking gunfire in a quiet London square. On a legal level I was a bit uncomfortable with some of the liberties we had taken with the law. It’s all very well to say that we were preserving diplomatic relations by covering up the deeds of the Baron.

The ties between Germany and England were strong but I feared England was growing complacent while the amalgamation of the German states fostered their increasing sense of unity. Not to mention the growing ambition to face England as an equal partner. Events were moving slowly but inextricably towards a confrontation that promised to be as explosive as the events at the Embassy.

“You are very pensive, Sherlock.” John’s voice came from the stairs from which I had been unconsciously tracking the sound of his steps.

“Just thinking about the future and whether or not England is ready for the changes that are coming.” I rose and took off my dressing gown, throwing it on the settee and reaching for my dinner jacket. But Watson was there first and he held it for me while I slipped my arms into the sleeves.

His hands slipped from my shoulders to my waist, catching me into a hug that told me he was still not completely recovered from our ordeal two days before. “That thought has crossed my mind as well, Sherlock. When I listen to what my patients say about the world, I fear they see through rose tinted spectacles. Perhaps it is my military experience that leads me to read between the lines but the papers are full of events in the younger nations who grow ever more powerful and will soon be demanding a greater share of the world.”

I turned in his arms and held him tightly. “I too fear the blinkers our leaders appear to be wearing. Perhaps tonight we can query Mycroft as to his department’s plans for the future.”

“Your brother strikes me as a man who is always looking towards the future.” John leaned back a little, letting me take his weight. Just one of the many ways he shows me of his trust. “I hope this contretemps will herald a new watchfulness for our government.”

“I hope so, John.” I stole a kiss from the man who holds my heart. He’d already had a glass of sherry while he was dressing and the sharp tang of the liquor accented his normal taste.

“Hm-m-m, Sherlock, what a lovely appetizer for our upcoming dinner. Is it almost time to go pick up Josiah and David?” Watson smiled up at me and caressed my cheek with his fingers before brushing them across my lips.

I nipped them as they went by then reluctantly let Watson go. “Indeed it is. I noticed the driver and carriage Mycroft insisted on sending arrived a few moments ago. Mrs. Hudson is on her way up to tell us.”

John chuckled and settled his waistcoat which had become slightly disheveled in our embrace. I hid a smile while straightening my own clothes. These little tête-à-tête’s were always so enjoyable. In the back of my mind, I decided there and then to plan some time in the country where we could be alone. I needed time to walk in the open air and clear my mind of this case. Putting myself into the Baron’s mind had left residual contaminants I needed to purge.

“Holmes?” John had his coat on already and was patiently waiting for me to stop thinking and start moving.

“Sorry, Watson, I promise not to be so inattentive at dinner.” 

He held my coat for me and handed me my silk muffler with a stern look that told me to put it on and make no demurs. I meekly slung it around my throat and tucked it in while he tried to hide a smile that said he saw right through me. I am very lucky to have such a beautiful guardian of my health. He takes great good care of me.

The carriage was much more luxurious than we were used to and I caught John smoothing his hand across the plush fabric. The hansom cabs we normally patronized were not up to these standards. Mentally, I upgraded our vacation to a manor house rather than the cottage in Cornwall where first we loved. John deserves only the best accommodations. 

We reached the Harbottles within a few moments and the driver went up to the alley entrance and knocked. The door opened immediately and Josiah emerged with his arm still in the black silk sling. David followed, locking up and testing the knob to be sure it was secure. John leaned forward and pushed the carriage door open, calling out to Josiah to be careful of his footwork. The hoarfrost had made the cobblestones slippery and David laughingly hurried to balance his partner while the driver trailed behind to catch any falls.

When we were all settled and on our way, I noticed David’s high color and when he broke into speech, I was not surprised he had exciting news.

“Uncle John, Mr. Holmes, you’ll never guess what happened today.” His smile lit up the dim carriage. “The Earl of Gloucester has made an offer on the fifteenth century missal. A positively obscene amount of money! Plus he wants several other items.”

“Congratulations! What a wonderful windfall for you.” John smiled.

Josiah chuckled. “It will almost recoup the amount we paid for the entire collection so we can take our time with the rest of the books and find the right buyers for them.”

“And were there any medical texts within the late Duke’s collection?” I asked.

“Yes there were, Holmes. I have not forgotten John’s penchant for the ancient writings. David brought several of our catalogs with him, one for you and one for Stephen.” Josiah chuckled while David patted the pocket of his outer coat with a sunny grin that warmed the entire carriage.

Our arrival at Mycroft’s quite surprised me for the journey had never seemed so short before. Many things about this case had contrived to upset my natural balance. I mused on the implications while the butler took our hats and coats before showing us to Mycroft’s library. Emotions I had declared as useless to detection had in this case spurred all of us to heroic or in the case of the Baron, demonic measures.

An interesting thought and one I would pursue later. For now, Mycroft was rising from one of the wing chairs by the fire while admonishing Wenton to stay seated in the other. The patient was well cocooned with pillows and blankets. While not his usual energetic self, he still greeted us with an engaging smile and firm handshake. Watson immediately asked him of his treatment while David listened and they spoke while Josiah and I followed Mycroft to the sideboard and the liquor decanters.

With our favorite beverages in hand, we seated ourselves near the fire. Mycroft was his normal quiet self, listening to our conversation but partaking of speech sparingly. Something was different about him but I could not put my finger on it until David laughed up into Stephen’s face from his perch on the footstool nearest the fire.

Stephen’s laughter blended with David’s and I caught a fleeting look of pride on my brother’s face. With a shock, I realized he was responding to Stephen in the same way I know I respond to John. Even to the use of his first name. It was a revelation I had not suspected. Casting my mind back over our meetings in the last week, I finally put all the pieces of our puzzle together.

His placid acceptance of my finally asking for my portion of our Father’s estate should have teased my deductive powers but I was too caught up in the throes of early passion to note it except with relief. Then there was Wenton’s call back from Germany after only six months when normally my brother’s agents are posted for two years at a time. And the familiarity that Stephen had with my brother’s home and office up to and including which whiskey he prefered.

All the clues to my brother’s inner emotional life had been laid out for those with eyes to see. I had been deaf and blind indeed in my dealings with my older sibling. I wasn’t sure just how to let him know I approved his choice of lover. We were both such naturally cold-hearted men, it was not easy for either of us to let another into our lives. To let another see into our most intimate heart was hard indeed.

“Sherlock, what are you thinking so deeply about? I do not believe you have heard a word we have said in the last ten minutes.” Mycroft’s voice broke into my concentration.

Meeting his eyes, I smiled. “I was thinking of the nature of passion. This case seems to have touched on the darker sides of that most generous of emotions.” All their eyes were trained on me now. “There is your and Stephen’s passion for guarding England’s secrets. My passion for solving mysteries. John’s deep need to heal the sick. Josiah and David’s love of old books. The Baron’s desire to advance Germany’s interests. All those passions colliding together in one tangled inquiry could have led to any of our deaths.”

John shuddered next to me and I wished with all my heart I could take his hand in mine in front of these friends. But I was not yet so sure of my untangling of my brother’s or Stephen’s emotions. Perhaps someday, I would feel free enough to do so but that time was not now. Interesting that I felt no constraints before Josiah or David.

“Indeed, passion may be held accountable for quite half the crime in London.” My brother nodded. “Perhaps even of the world as a whole. But we would all be the poorer if our passions were suddenly taken away from us. They are what add the zest to our lives. Like a good curry lends its flavor to plain rice. And speaking of rice, I believe that Roberts has come to announce dinner.”

The butler bowed his head. “Dinner is served, gentlemen.” 

It took us a little time to unwrap Stephen from his comfortable nest but Mycroft watched John like a hawk while he helped his patient out of the chair. I was growing more and more sure that my deductions as to their relationship were correct. It fed the warmth in my heart that John nurtured daily with his kisses and our daily lovemaking. It felt odd to think of my older brother as a sexual creature but then I’m quite sure that most of the world would never believe that I had any feelings at all.

I walked across the hall to the dining room still musing on the changes in my life since I’d let John know my secret heart. I could hardly wait until I had him alone so I could tell him of my findings. Smiling, I made a small wager to myself, he’d already figured it out. He sees emotions much more clearly than I do. We make a very good team.

******************* 

I lay in my bed waiting for John to join me. He said he had something to fetch from his bedroom so I had gone ahead and disrobed before sliding between the heated sheets. My thoughts went back over the relaxed conversation at the dinner table. We might have been friends for years instead of just weeks. David and Stephen had between the pair of them made us laugh again and again. I do not think that I have enjoyed a meal so much ever before in my life.

Why even I had managed a rather clever double-entendre that made my brother chuckle and the rest of the table erupt into laughter. Perhaps I was not such a dull man as I had led myself to believe. But then, John inspires me to ever-higher heights of drollery. I chuckled to myself just as John opened the door and entered.

“You were inspired tonight, my love.” He said, blue eyes gleaming in the firelight while he locked the door behind him. 

“It was quite the nicest dinner I have ever gone to. Except for those dinners when you and I can be alone.” I watched avidly while he removed his robe and threw it over the slipper chair by the fire. He wore no nightshirt underneath so I got to watch him walk naked across the room to my bed.

The light flickered over his pale skin and I could see in the half-light that he was already erect. That sight always stiffens my own body to an aching hardness and it was no different this night. Holding back the covers, I welcomed him into my arms. We kissed slowly for long moments while our hands caressed shoulders and backs. The curry from dinner added something extra to his addicting taste and my tongue rubbed the roof of his mouth to catch the last trace of delicious spice.

He shivered at that caress and pushed me over onto my back so he could lie atop me, one lean leg between both of mine. The hair on his leg teased my organ to even greater hardness and when he paused to caress it with a salve slick hand, I had to hang on to my control or I would have spent myself prematurely.

“So very responsive, Sherlock. I love how you react to my touch.” His murmur came from the long line of my throat where he was nibbling at suddenly sensitive skin.

“Your touch . . . oh . . . would bring a dead man back to life, John. Oh yes, there. Just there.” I arched up into the hot wet mouth pleasuring my nipples.

“Not so, my love. It is your wanton nature finally coming to the surface.” I could feel his smile against my chest just before he gently bit my left nipple.

I was panting now and trying to catch my breath while his fingers searched out those spots that made me want to lose control. “I do not think wanton is quite the right word, John.”

“Oh yes, it is, beloved. Now, your brother surprised me tonight. When did you deduce that he and Stephen were lovers?” He slipped back up to kiss me again after he’d scooped up more of the cream from the jar he’d brought to bed with him so that he could anoint both our shafts to slippery perfection.

“Tonight. I should have caught on after Wenton was shot. My brother acted with too much tenderness for Stephen to be ‘just’ another agent. But my mind was too caught up in rejoicing at our survival.” I arched up just enough to slide my cock against his.

“Ah, I wondered that night but the drug seemed to dull all my senses so I wasn’t sure. I also was too relieved to really catch all the nuances.” John straddled me and nudged our cocks into a slippery duel which hardened me almost to the point of release. 

But his lovely long fingers squeezed me at just the right spot to prevent my premature release. Both of his hands were slick with cream and he teased both of us, sitting back slightly so our cocks rose between us. The covers had been pushed back to the foot of the bed so I could see him clearly in the firelight and he’d never looked so beautiful to me before.

I watched him run a finger up and down my cock, watching it lengthen towards him as if to beg for more caresses. “I have a surprise for you, Sherlock. May I give it to you now?”

Hypnotized by his burning gaze, I managed a nod before he smiled and leaned up to kiss me. His hand ran up and down my cock gently before gripping it firmly. I truly had no idea what he had planned but when he sat back, I felt myself slide into quite the tightest place I have ever been. 

His face bore a look of intense concentration and I was frozen in fear he might hurt himself. However, when he finally came to rest on my thighs, his eyes opened with a fierce look of triumph. His heat was like nothing I had ever felt before and when he moved forward to kiss me and I felt the tight grip of his inner muscles, I think I moaned.

“Mine, Sherlock. No more waiting, my love. We might have either of us been hurt or killed.” He took my lips with fervor before sitting back and encasing me again. “Your cock is mine. All mine and I want you inside me whenever we can manage it.”

“Yours, John. Oh my God.” He was moving a little more quickly and when I ventured to thrust up as he was coming down, his breath caught and a look of bliss crossed his face.

“Just there, Sherlock.” He dropped his weight down onto me again and I remembered the prostate gland we’d talked about, thrusting up again. 

I must have inadvertently hit it because his moan was music to my ears. My hands slid up his thighs to catch his hips and the next time he came down, I thrust up harder. We were both panting now and I felt his inner muscles rippling around me. I was unsure how much more I could take of this exquisite torture when I realized that his own organ had received no attention since the moment he had taken me inside of him.

Sliding one hand from his hip, I caught the bobbing organ in a firm grip, the familiar girth filling my hand with his warmth. I milked it tenderly, the up and down slide of flesh on flesh intoxicating and I felt his muscles quiver both around me and within my grasp.

“Oh love.” He panted out, freezing in place and coming in spurts over my stomach.

The contractions around me were so strong, he pulled my own climax from me at the same moment. I have never felt anything like it before. The sensation of emptying myself into him was beyond my experience. He slowly subsided onto my chest and my arms enfolded him to me. I was still lodged within him but I could feel myself beginning to soften and knew I would soon slip from him.

Moving us to our sides, I reached for the towel we kept by the bed for cleaning ourselves. That movement was all it took and I slipped from his body. Holding the towel against him, I checked it with suddenly shaking hands. What if I had hurt him?

“You could never hurt me, Sherlock.” His drowsy murmur reached my ears at the same time I saw there was no blood on the towel. “Loving me will never hurt me.”

“I love you, John, more than words can say. Thank you for loving me.”

The sleepy blue eyes opened and he held my gaze while his arms tightened about me. “I love you too, Sherlock. It has been six months since we first shared a kiss and I wanted to gift you with something new tonight.”

My eyes welled with tears and I kissed him gently, unable to find the words to tell him how much his gift meant to me. But he knew as he always does, his hands drawing up the covers over us and soothing me to sleep against his shoulder. He rocked me slowly, his hands rubbing comforting circles on my back. Tomorrow, I would find the words to thank him.

Or perhaps I would let actions tell him instead. I nuzzled the sweat-dampened skin beneath my cheek. It was time to let go of my fears and accept John’s love with all the joy I was capable of. Sleep stole over my senses and I drifted off with the sound of John’s heartbeat like a lullaby for my ears.

*********************   
End of the Problem


End file.
